Reflection of Deceit
by Phyllis L. Loafman
Summary: The worlds of SG1, Stargate Atlantis, and the Magnificent Seven collide, ending up stranded in another galaxy.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a storyline that Kay and I worked on for several months, combining the SGA world with the Magnificent Seven. **

**It is complete and will be posted in parts over the next week.**

Title: Reflection of Deceit A Magnificent Seven/ Stargate Atlantis crossover

By Phyllis and Jkay

**Prologue: 3,000 BC- Pegasus System**

The city was as beautiful and sleek as the woman, heavy with child, looking out at the vast expanse of the ocean water. Valeria, the last commander of Atlantis, sighed weary, releasing a deep, audible breath as she forced her attention from the calming sensation of the ocean's gentle waves. Small black curls framed her ethereal face, while the longer strands were pulled back into a thick braid, worn past her delicate shoulders.

Her deep green eyes, closed for a moment as the immense city shuddered, heralding the departure of the Ancient's fleet through the city's outer shield on their way to intercept the approaching adversary. 'An adversary of their own making,' if she had read the 'between the lines' implications correctly in Janus' research reports. A slender, pale hand trembled as it touched the wall of the immense city, "Soon little one, our time here is almost over," she murmured softly, caressing her swollen abdomen.

Masking her true feelings of dread for what she felt in her heart was about to befall the once great city and her people, she was the perfect depiction of a self-assured commander as the two men arrived at the entrance of the small balcony. Valeria did not have to turn, she knew who restlessly lurked at the entrance of her refuge, waiting for permission to enter. Her son was still angry at her decision to keep him at her side, his continued presence in the doorway a sign of his defiance.

"_Meus matris_, the fleet is away," a youthful male voice spoke coolly, from behind her. Gracefully, Valeria turned to face the young man and his mentor, Atlantis' leading scientist, Janus. A small smile spread across her face as she studied the tall, blond haired youth beside the scientist. The young man was truly his 'father's son', tall and slender with chiseled features; he walked with confidence like his sire. His sea green eyes revealed wisdom… and a vast amount of knowledge for one so young. The dark haired woman knew he would grow to be a wise leader, as his father had been before him. Yet Valeria knew all to well, that the events in the next few days would open her son's eyes to the burdens and sacrifices that great leaders were destined to bear.

A dark shadow clouded Valeria's eyes as she thought of her mate, dead these past months. She had refused to release the anguished cry of grief; she had failed to follow her mate in death. It was a path she longed to journey, yet she could not. Their people needed her strength and guidance in these dark times. Their unborn child was the hope of all Atlantis. She would follow her love after her tasks were complete.

The city's lights flickered, responding to her inner anguish. Valeria turned her face away from her son, her watery eyes stared out across the calm waters, hoping the gentle to and fro motion of the waves would once again soothe her battered soul. Gathering her resolve, she faced the two men and spoke, "Captain Chenoa will contact us when the fleet has arrived at the rendezvous coordinates." With a simple wave of her hand, she gave permission for the two scientists to enter her private sanctuary.

"Then we will know within a day's time if the High Council's decision was the correct one," Janus said as he entered the small hideaway.

"Chenoa will not fail in her mission." The Commander's voice was strong with her confidence in her flotilla captain's ability, effectively quieting the scientist's condemnation.

"The High Council has sent Captain Chenoa along with the last of our warriors to their death." Danaus stated coldly, and then added as he met the eyes of his _matris _and commander, "You should have allowed me to join them."

Valeria's eyes dropped to the floor, sorrow momentarily etched across her delicate features from the icy tone of her son's voice. "No, _Meus filius, Meus pectus pectoris_." Valeria gracefully made her way over to the young man and placed her right palm against his cheek, "We will not win this war. Chenoa understands this. You, _Meus filius _are needed elsewhere."

"We could still have peace. The Wraith have agreed to the time and place for the meeting." Janus spoke up, as he stood alongside his student.

"Mentor, we have been in conflict with the enemy for over one hundred years. The Wraith will not stop until they have sucked the life from every living thing. They cannot survive otherwise. To believe they would simply seize their cullings and leave is naïve. And..." Danaus paused, locking eyes with his _matris, _"some of us will not die as quickly as others."

"No, Janus, there can be no peace while a single Wraith lives," Valeria said, returning her son's glare. "We will not die quietly. It is our task to protect this star system."

All three ancients turned as one, moving back inside the great city as a resonant siren echoed down the corridors. Valeria led the way as she continued to speak, "I agreed with the High Council when they said that we are defenders and not predators. That is why we will lose this war. The council and I sent the fleet to give us more time for the evacuation. Our people must survive." Turning a corner, the commander continued along in silence, making her way down, deep into the heart of the ancient city.

At the end of a long corridor Valeria entered a small, dark room. The lights instantly came on, giving the walls a cool, blue glow. The air felt like it had dropped ten degrees in temperature as the commander of Atlantis carefully sat in the chair. Instantly, the chair tilted back, and a blue glow emanated from it and the surrounding floor. A holographic display of the planet and surrounding solar system appeared overhead. All too soon, red dots appeared, moving toward the planet.

Janus and Danaus' eyes met in concern as the great city shook under the first wave of Wraith attacks. They could only stand and watch as the last of the highborn Warrior clan defended the great city.

Valeria's eyes closed as her face twisted in anguish. Her nimble fingers worked the soft jelly-like controls, sending dozens of energy drones toward the Wraiths' dart-shaped ships as they approached the city. The drones exploded on impact, lighting up the sky over Atlantis. Small beads of perspiration appeared and ran down Valeria's forehead as the strain of controlling the energy drones intensified. The dark haired warrior and her unborn child's mind presences flickered and dimmed as Atlantis shuddered.

"_Matris!_" Danaus sobbed, falling to his knees. Janus raced out of the room. Overhead, a large red dot hovered above the planet, a Wraith mother ship. The Commander's fingers moved instinctively over the controls, a small, painful moan escaping her lips as thousands of small, white-hot drones shot up from the center of the city, and raced toward the ship orbiting the planet. As the drones hit the outer atmosphere, they split. The main body of drones tore through the mother ship, as the other drones took out the smaller darts.

In the small room within the heart of Atlantis, one young man held his breath, waiting for the city's commander to take one small lungful of air. The light emanating from the chair and surrounding area had faded, leaving the room bathed in an eerie, pale blue glow. As the great city stilled, her warrior commander drew a final breath, breathing out one last deep sigh before slumping into the now dark chair.

"_Meus era_." Nadia, the leading healer of Atlantis slowed as she entered the room, panting from her panicked dash to Valeria's side. Behind her, Janus stood with two others, all trying to catch their breaths.

Nadia stepped around Danaus to reach the commander, placing one palm on Valeria's forehead and the other on the commander's abdomen. The healer closed her eyes as her Ancient healing powers flowed from her body into the woman beneath her palms. Valeria took a deep breath and then another. "Deep, even breaths, _Meus era_. Malachi, give me your hand," Nadia directed, holding up her hand as she kept the other palm on the commander's abdomen where the life within struggled to survive.

As a tall, ebony haired male stepped from behind Janus and reached for the healers' hand, Nadia swiftly placed the palm on his hand on the commander's protruding abdomen. Malachi, was the older brother to the Atlantis commander, but his dark eyes went wide as he felt the small life inside his sister withdraw in terror from his touch. The arrogant man's eyes darkened-the child could sense his dark presence, yet not the mother, his twin. The dark presence in his mind washed over the terrified fetus, sending the mother into contractions. His twin sister moaned in pain, her head moving back and forth.

"Malachi, concentrate, anchor your twin or we will shall lose the baby," Nadia's low voice scolded him. The male twin forced his attention back to his sister, repositioning the palm of his hand to his sister's shoulder. No one noticed the dark and malicious glint in his eyes.

As Malachi anchored his twin, the healer turned her attention to the small life, pouring warm, healing rays of love into the womb. She could feel the baby's essence, crying out in fear, reaching for someone, a blood kin. A small, sad smile crossed the healer's lips; the brothers would need the strong guardianship bond that was forming in order to survive the coming battle.

Nadia spoke to the young man kneeing beside his mother, "Danaus, place your palm over mine, the little one is searching for you." A look of awe crossed the blond haired man's face as he stretched his arm out as directed.

"Shush, little one." Danaus murmured tenderly. _"Ego mos servo vos , meus parum frater."_ His eyes lit up as the bright spirit that was his little brother touched his mind for the first time. Danaus telepathically wrapped his consciousness around the little one as if he were cradling his younger brother within his protective arms, shielding him from harm. In his mind's eye, he could see his baby brother's head, covered in dark curls and resting on his shoulder, bright golden eyes looking upon his face from under dark eyelashes

Danaus sat still, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of his infant brother's presence in his arms, but his eyes snapped open as the baby in his arms became restless, immediately searching for the cause. He caught a glance of something murky and malicious, slithering along the outer edge of the baby's presence.

Cocooning his baby brother within his consciousness, Danaus immediately placed himself in front of the venomous darkness racing toward them. Shielding the child, Danaus cried out, calling for their mother's help.

A sharp cry pulled at Valeria's subconscious, calling her back. She had been prepared to cross over, to go to the next level of existences and join her mate. The weary warrior took another step toward peace before another sharp, frightened cry assaulted her mind and she stumbled. With a heartbroken sob, she turned away from her mate. Her babies were crying out to her in terror and instantly Valeria reacted out with the full power of an Ancient warrior. Telepathically she erected a barrier, shielding her children from the darkness that would do them harm. She stood tall and defiant as the darkness raged against her shields. Her golden eyes burned brightly as her power built until finally she released an electrified charge, bright and glowing toward the darkness.

The darkness recoiled, running back to hide in a place that no one suspected. His host's body involuntarily shuddered; the evil could feel the power of the Ancient warrior ruthlessly hunting for his dark presence. He had underestimated the female warrior and unwittingly awakened the predator hiding within the mother. Warily, he fell silent, releasing his hold on his ancient host's mind and body for the first time in three months.

A soft sucking noise vibrated through Danaus' mind, forcing him to look down at his sleeping brother. Content and feeling safe, the baby had his favorite thumb back in his mouth, keening with happiness. The young man shook himself awake and opened his eyes to find he was still kneeling by his mother's side. He blinked a couple of times as if just waking from a terrible dream; his attention was drawn to his mother's soft voice.

"Thank you, my son," Valeria said as she opened her weary eyes. Nadia smiled, and placed the commander's hand over her son's before stepping back and giving the small family some privacy. She was somewhat startled when Malachi moved away from mother and son to stand beside Janus.

"That was very foolish, Valeria. You could have lost our little warrior," a stern, but soft voice, chided, breaking the silence as Discordia entered the chamber. Tall and regal in stature, her long platinum hair fell down her back. The young Ancient looked to be the same age as the commander's son, "You should have waited, and one of us could have directed the drones. We can not afford to lose you and the baby."

"There was no time, my friend," the Commander answered back.

"My sister knew what she was doing," Malachi said harshly in defense of his twin. Looking around in a confused state, he added, "Besides, if the high council had listened to the scientists, the city would be thousands of leagues below the surface and there would have been no need for the Commander of Atlantis to be placed in a position where she had to risk her life and the life of her unborn child."

Discordia's pale blue eyes narrowed with disgust, "Your opinions are not our concern here, Malachi. We only tolerate your presence for the sake of your twin." Her eyes darkened with pain, "Remember, Malachi, you and your disobedience is the reason your twin is without her mate."

"Discordia, please." Valeria struggled to get out of the chair. She saw the look of confusion and pain on her twin's face; she never blamed him for the losts of her mate. Grabbing onto her son's arm for support, she turned to her second in command, "We do not have time for this strife. The Wraith will return in greater numbers and we must be ready."

The tall, platinum-haired woman nodded, "You are right, Valeria." Facing the three scientists, she coldly told them, "Janus, Malachi, please report to the gate room. Danaus will follow in a moment."

Stargate Atlantis

"Tell me you all felt that…that," Nadia asked as soon as the two scientists exited the chamber, her eyes wide, too shocked to continue. A Lantian had allowed themselves to become a host to one of their greatest enemy.

Facing the healer, Discordia asked, nervously, as if some great secret was about to be unleashed, "What did you feel?"

"A…a malicious spirit, wanting...wanting a..." The healer's mouth couldn't form the word.

"Host." Valeria whispered the word that everyone in the chamber was too frightened to speak. The commander's face paled as she realized what was at stake-the life of her unborn child. No Goa'uld had ever survived the merging with a reluctant, mature, Lantian. The parasites were weak-minded against the mental power of an Ancient and would shrivel and die, being absorbed by the unwilling host's body.

In a million years, no adversary of the Lantian had ever stood upon the soil of Atlantis – until now. Clutching at the chair, Valeria's shoulders drooped in defeat. She had failed in keeping her children safe, had failed in her duty to keep her people safe.

"Now do you believe me?" Danaus stood, leaning wearily against the chair, "The parasites have returned to _terra, humus_. And one or more has come through the gate to Atlantis."

Distressed, Discordia stated, "How are we to survive fighting on two fronts?"

Valeria selected her words carefully, even as Atlantis sang sweetly in her mind, "Aiyanna did not fail in her mission." The commander paused, "The _terra humus _gate is secure."

"How do you know this, Valeria?" asked Nadia, finally coming out of her shock. "Aiyanna could have been overwhelmed by the plague, leaving the outpost unprotected…allowing the enemy to come through the gate."

"Argos." The way the name was whispered on the commander's lips let the others know of her anguish.

"What did Argos see before he died?" Discordia grabbed and held her friend's hand. The younger warrior had always known that Valeria knew more than what she had told the high council about her mates' demise. "Valeria, I know you were linked with him before his death, what did you see?" Her voice was placid and sympathetic, knowing she was causing her friend, and mentor, great pain in asking her to once again experience the moment of her mate's passing.

"Jaffa," Valeria's body shuddered, and her unborn child shuddered with her. "The space around _terra humus_ has changed, shifted. The Furlings have all but disappeared, forsaking the two younger races. The Nox, hide behind illusions on their home world and the youngest, our Asgard friends, have dwindled in numbers."

"Then the great alliance is no more. We are on our own?" Danaus asked, his voice quivered with growing panic. "How can we return home?"

"The gate is secure. The Goa'uld have abandoned our home, thanks to Argos," the commander reassured them. "Cheveyo and his fellow scientists were able to introduce the naquadah marker and as we planned, the marker has spread throughout the Goa'uld larvae. Only… only… it seems that Argos missed one, the one who…" Valeria's body trembled. Nadia moved over to her friends' side and placed her arms around the dark haired woman.

"Then we must be on our guard. There are Goa'uld among us." Discordia started to pace back and forth. The younger warrior stopped pacing with a jolt; something just occurred to her, "Ones that we can not detect."

"So, once again, our people will flee and like before, abandon the younger races to this new enemy." Danaus spoke bitterly and out of turn, making eye contact with the platinum haired warrior destined to be his mate. "And we return home, to what? An empty outpost? Or do we ascend, like the prophet has ordained and follow the priestess, Oma Desala?"

"I do not wish to forsake the new seedling of life in this galaxy, but we have no choice. We are not as we once were; the bloodline of our warriors has diminished. We are not powerful enough to withstand fighting on two fronts. Atlantis must not fall to our enemies." Discordia casually moved to stand by her chosen mate. Gazing lovingly into his eyes, she spoke, "However, nor do I wish to return home and follow the priestess' path, it is not our time."

"We follow our chosen destiny, my son and soon-to-be daughter." Shaking off the healer's arm, Valeria slowly moved toward her son and placed the palm of her right hand on his chest. "As we once were, we will become again as was foretold long ago."

"You speak of the prophecy from days long past?" Danaus whispered. "A time when our race was young and aggressive, ruled by the strongest warriors of Lucetius' blood." Danaus closed his eyes.

Memories of ancient battle echoed in his mind. Shaking his head, he continued. "Surely you do not believe in that old prophecy that one of the blood, that Minerva, daughter of the protector of the empire herself, survived?" The young Lantian waited for a denial from the woman at his side, but only silence answered him back. He was a scientist, he believed in hard facts not fairy tales of old glory days. The tall blond quickly added, "Besides, the last of the full warrior bloodlines died out thousands of years ago, before the great crossing."

"It is true that a venomous plague devastated Lucetius' bloodline." The healer lowered her voice, glancing around, then she added, "although one or more of the blood could have survived, would have had to for Atlantis to..." Nadia stopped speaking, nervously waited for the commander's reaction. All but the city's commander had shocked expressions on their faces.

"Nadia, it's time; they need to know what fate has in store for them." The commander's voice was dull, lifeless, "what our ancestors have foretold for our people."

"_Matris,"_ Danaus whispered softly as he looked into his commander's eyes. _"Matris,"_ his voice trembled with fear, catching the faraway look in his mother's glassy eyes. She was no longer with them; her bright green eyes had turned golden, locked on a faraway place that only she could see.

Shakily, he placed his hand over his mother's delicate fingers so she could feel his beating heart. He had hoped to ground her to the here and now. Without moving his eyes from his mother's, Danaus called to the healer, fear for his mother lacing his voice. "Nadia, what's happening?"

The rustling of Nadia's robe against the floor was the only noise heard in the small room as she circled to stand at the side of the statuette form of the commander. Placing one of her hands on the commander's forearm, the healer closed her eyes in reflection. The two younger Lantians held their breath, waiting for the soft-spoken healer to speak. "Valeria is communicating with the old one, the great ship herself."

"That is impossible, the great city's voice has lain dormant since the great crossing thousands of years ago," Danaus said suspiciously. "It would take a direct descendent of Lucetius to awaken the old one which dwells within Atlantis. For generations, Melia, of the High Council, has told us that none had survived."

"She lied; one survived, one who made it possible for the great ship to travel across the galaxies." Nadia spoke candidly. The three Lantian's remained silent as a soft radiance emanated around the commander, giving her a ghostlike appearance. Nadia instantly went to her knees as golden eyes fixed upon her face, "_Meus era_," bowing her head in trepidation and esteem at the royal being appearing before them. Both Danaus and his mate followed the healer's example, confusion clearly written on their faces as they too dropped to their knees.

Golden eyes, full of wisdom, looked down upon the three younger Lantians, a strong expression of love danced like fire in her eyes as she spoke, "Rise, my friend," reaching out a hand to help the healer to her feet. "My children, do not fear me."

Danaus locked eyes with the being before him; he felt his chosen mate's gentle assurance as her hand wrapped around his, "_Matris," _His childlike voice brought a smile to Valeria's lips and she bent down, her long robe spread behind her, embracing the two younger Lantians in her arms.

"My son, my son, how I love you." One small tear leaked from watering eyes, leaving a shimmering trail down Valeria's cheek. Rolling back on her heels, she stood taking in her surroundings. Her right hand gently caressed her swollen abdomen, soothing the little soul inside her, her youngest, her little warrior, the one that was destined to endure great pain and suffering all because he was her son, the heir to Atlantis and all her power. "There is so much I need to tell you. Time is so precious and we have so little left."

"I don't understand, Mother, what is happening to you?" Even as he spoke, Danaus could see his mother becoming more and more luminous as if she was on different planes of existence, the past, present, and future. "Are you joining father in the next phase of life?"

"No, my son, it is not time for your father and I to be together again." A sad smile crossed Valeria's face, "Not for a long while will I be able to join the others of our kind. There is much I need to tell you, my son." The woman circled around the two kneeling Lantians, lost in thought. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but strong as if it came from a great distance, "You know of our history, the great battles, the inner turmoil of rebellion between our people, to the great crossing and the death of Lucetius," she paused, bowing her head, "my father," she looked up, "your grandfather."

"But…but we were all told that the priests of Ori killed the royal family, to stop the warrior bloodline," Danaus said in disbelief.

"Three survived," Nadia said in a soft voice. "Minerva and the newly born twins, Valeria and Malachi. Minerva joined her soul with the great ship, Atlantis. In doing so, she guided the city, disguising the twins' true heritage and keeping them from harm."

"Minerva was never meant to interact with the great ship's artificial intelligence; she was not a warrior." Valeria continued with a heavy sigh, "Minerva was a healer. Abhorred at the thought of the taking a life, she guided our people through the years. We grew to become a society governed by technical experts. Our people became conceited, arrogant in our dealings with the younger races. We were not prepared to confront a race of beings as technologically advanced as our own. Overconfident, the High Council sent our young warriors to face the Wraith." The commander paused, taking in a deep breath, fighting tears, "For the next hundred years they would be overwhelmed and slaughtered by the thousands."

Sensing Valeria's despair, Nadia picked up again, "Argos understood that for us to survive as a people we would have to evolve. Most of the religious cast had already ascended, leaving the scientists and a few warriors left to deal with the Wraith."

"The High Council was divided. Should we remain and fight, or return to _terra, humus?_ Or ascend and follow the priestess to the next plane of existence? Argos knew that the scientists, though strong in intelligence, lacked the mental power to ascend, and the few warriors…the handful of warriors remaining, refused to abandon the new seedlings of life to the Wraith." Valeria spoke in a low voice, "Argos foresaw we would not survive as a race if we stayed; he was determined that we would evolve, just not in the way the priestess foretold."

"Remember the prophecy, we will become what we once were. An Heir of Lucetius, will rise and bring back the golden days of Atlantis," Nadia said with reverence.

"Argos completed his mission before he died. Our Asgard friends will act as guardians of the alliance, until the time the fifth race is ready. Your children and their descendants will be our future." Valeria said with confidence as if she were watching the future unfold in front of her eyes. "That is why you could not go with Chenoa and the fleet." The commander's eyes begged for her son to understand.

"I…I don't understand…" Danaus whispered.

"Chenoa's mission is to stall the Wraith so that we can finish the evacuation back to _terra, humus. _There will be no peace with the Wraith. When the time is right, your descendants will return." Valeria's commanding voice reverberated around the chamber. "I need you to go gather your belongings and meet Discordia in the control room within the hour. I will remain and keep the city functioning until the last moment."

"_Matris… _please," the young man's voice pleaded with his mother. "I cannot be the Heir spoken in the prophecy. I may have the bloodline of Lucetius, but I do not have the warrior blood."

"You may not have the warrior blood, however I do, from my father," Discordia whispered. Her eyes filled as Danaus turned his face away from her in disbelief at her apparent betrayal.

"I will not abandon you, or my unborn brother," Danaus told his mother.

"Discordia will return to _terra, humus,_ but I shall remain at your side until we both go through the gate-together."

"My son, the city will not function properly without my connection with Minerva. Before I can travel through the gate, I will need to disconnect her from the mainframe at the last possible moment, allowing her consciousness to ascend. I owe her my life; we owe her our peoples' lives. I will not forsake Minerva to a life of endless loneliness."

"And what of my unborn brother's life? Is he not just as important, _Matris?" _Valeria's son replied angrily. "You are willing to place yourself in danger by staying, but what of him? You know what will happen to you if you fall into the hands of the Wraith. They will feed upon you and my unborn brother, until they force you to ascend." He continued to glare at his mother. "You would survive by joining father in our next phase of life, but my brother…my infant brother… would not have the mental power to ascend; he would die. I will never have a chance to hold him in my arms, never have the opportunity to watch him grow, to love and protect him."

"Do as you are told." Valeria's cold voice commanded, turning her back on her son, her hands clenching at her side. Her unborn son was once again in turmoil but she refused to place her hand on her swollen abdomen until her older son left the chamber.

"As you command," Danaus replied furiously, turning and leaving the chamber. As her son exited, the Commander severed her connection with the city, her face turning a grayish color. She took a wavering step as if to follow her son, but stumbling, releasing a painful cry and collapsed to her knees, her arms around her abdomen, as she rocked back and forth in agony. Both Discordia and Nadia flew to her side, each placing a hand on Valeria's swollen belly, sending wave after wave of warm healing powers.

The three Lantian women stayed wrapped in each other's embraces until Valeria's contractions dissipated. "_Meus era_, you can not keep this up. Your body needs rest," Nadia told the commander. Her own exhaustion and frustration with her friend, laced her voice. "You are hurting the baby, Valeria. He will not survive another attack."

"Valeria?" Discordia asked, the younger woman watched as the fire in Valeria's eyes dissipated, leaving them weary.

"Danaus and you must survive and return home; the future of our race depends on it." Valeria told the younger warrior in a low voice, her hand shook as she placed it on Discordia's shoulder. "My little warrior's life depends on you both remaining alive and flourishing."

"_Meus era, _I'm honored," Discordia replied, her head bowed. "My son…sons will protect the Heir with their lives." The younger warrior stood and gracefully walked toward the door; she hesitated briefly as Valeria pleaded.

"Tell my son that I love him…" Valeria's voice quivered, "…and I will protect his brother with my very life, for I love my little warrior dearly."

Stargate Atlantis

"You lied to them," Nadia whispered, turning her head, "Why?" After watching the young, blonde warrior leave the chamber to join her soon to be mate.

Ashamed, Valeria faced away from her friend, her voice low, barely above a whisper, "Danaus would not leave Atlantis if he knew the truth."

"Which truth, Valeria?" the healer pushed back on her heels and stood up. Anger flooded her features, "That you have no intention of returning to _terra humus_ with the others? Or that you know that more than one Goa'uld has traveled to Atlantis?" Nadia's expression softened and, reaching down, she placed her fingers under the commander's chin, tilting the warrior's head up to look into her eyes. "Better yet, the fact that you can not travel through the gate without harming your unborn child? There are lot of truths that you have withheld from your son… as well as your people."

Valeria's eyes glassed over, "Danaus would demand we wait until the child is born." A small tear traveled down her cheek. The commander opened her lips to speak, only to close them, holding back her grief of losing one of her children.

Nadia bent down and placed the palm of her hand on the commander's enlarged abdomen. "Our little warrior needs another month before making his grand appearance."

Nodding her head, the dark haired woman placed her hand over the healer's. "You will say the oath of guardianship and hide my son until the warrior child of Danaus and Discordia returns to claim that responsibility." Both women could feel the erratic movement of the unborn baby as it fought for its life.

Nadia pulled back as if the mere touch was scorching, "Do not ask this of me, my lady," the healer stood and backed away from the mother-to-be. Valeria slapped both of her hands, onto the ground, the painful sound of flesh hitting the cool floor echoing around the room.

Dark, stormy eyes flared with emotion, "We are out of time; Minerva's control of the city's defenses is dwindling. She will not have the strength to hold back another attack from the Wraith and the shields will fail. No Lantian was designed to interface with the city for has long as Minerva has endeared." Golden fire danced in the orbs of her eyes. "I will not abandon my sister to an endless void or this great city to a Goa'uld or the Wraith."

Valeria stood unsteadily, eyes becoming unfocused as she once again interacted with the great city, speaking with both voices. "You gave your word, healer." The commander's orbs turned to liquid fire.

Exhausted, the healer bowed her head for a moment, and then slowly tilted her head back up to face the warrior, "My host fears for you, if you stay, you will die, and so will your little warrior." Gone was Nadia's soft-spoken voice. What resonated around the chamber was strong, deep, and commanding.

Valeria ignored her, staring at a point over the healer's shoulder, lost in thought. "We both have a part to play, and I will confront the Son of Horus." Silence hovered over the room. When the commander finally spoke again, her voice was strained. "Agro gave his life to save you, do not force me to sacrifice his unborn child."

"I never asked to be saved, _Dux_," the healer stated, her eyes flashing white. "Duamutef's host took the life of your mate, not I."

"You know who he desires," Valeria stated, her hand held protectively over her swollen stomach.

"His desire for your unborn son is strong," The host stood taller, her voice took on a distinctively double layer tone of a Goa'uld. "However, his desire for you, my Lady, is even greater."

Unconcerned about her own possible fate, the warrior asked, "Will you keep your bond?"

"Will you keep yours?" the Goa'uld demanded back.

"Your children have been relocated, Goddess. They will grow and prosper… free, with their chosen host. I have taken steps to insure their new home is shielded from the Wraith." Valeria answered back. A small sneer pulled at her lips as she added, "I personally arranged for Duamutef's influences to be eliminated."

"Thank you, my lady," the Goa'uld bowed her host's head in respect.

"Your kind believe you dead," Valeria eyes locked on the Goddess'. "You have a new beginning, a second chance for your offspring." A wistful smile graced the commander's lips as she said, "Isis, our people were once bitter enemies who have grown to become fast friends." The commander let the woman dwell on her words before adding, in a low voice, 'The 'enemy of my enemy is my friend' some would say; we have come together for a common goal, to protect our children and their future."

Isis, wife of Osiris and mother of Horus, gracefully glided over to stand face to face with the Commander of Atlantis, "I will keep my bond; my children will no longer take an unwilling host." She gently placed her hand on the commander's right shoulder. "I will wait with you until the birth of your little warrior, Valeria and when you are ready, I'll send you and the infant through the gate to your oldest son."

"And if the systems fails before that?" the commander questioned.

"Pray to the Goddess that it doesn't," Isis answered back.

"But if it does, and I am forced to take Minerva's place in the chamber…" Valeria's voice took on a pleading tone.

"I will forcibly take the infant from your body if you have not given birth before I place you in the chamber," the host's eyes flashed brightly, "and if he survives…" She stopped in mid-sentence, confusion clearly written on her host's face. Standing before her was one of the oldest and most powerful beings in the Pegasus System, with enough mental power to destroy planets with a mere wave of her hand, yet…this warrior…this queen of a mighty race was begging. Finally she asked, squeezing the commander's shoulder hard enough to leave impressions, "Why are you so sure of failure, Valeria?"

"The ascended ones have returned after traveling through time and space." Valeria spoke with reverence. "They have foretold… Oma spoke of my unborn son's death at the hands of Duamutef."

"And you believe her? Believe the one that helped Anubis ascend?" Isis questioned. "She lies."

"The priestess has no reason to lie."

"You still believe in them? The priests of Ori were the ones who murdered your father, cut you and your twin from your mother's womb; they butchered her," Nadia cried out, once again in control of her body.

"Oma was the one who placed my twin and I safely in Minerva's arms." Valeria stated, and then added, "She is no longer a priestess of Ori and the future she has foretold may not come to pass."

Lost in thought, visions of the future assaulted Valeria's mind. The picture of her city flooding flashed before her eyes, courageous people fought to survive, but failed only to be reborn. Confused, the warrior staggered backwards as image after image played like a movie before her eyes. Her heart fluttered and she gasped as the image of a young man appeared in her mind. His tall, slim haggard looking body swayed back and forth.

Valeria focused her attention on the wild, dark mop of hair; waiting for the young Lantian to lift his head, to confirm her suspicion… could this be… is this…The dark head turned, looking over his shoulders, Valeria instantly felt the danger, an evil so great, lurking, ready to strike. The dark haired youth's head snapped around the instant the evil stuck. The female warrior stumbled, gasping for air; her golden eyes locked on the golden, anguished filled eyes of the Lantian youth, as the darkness consumed him.

"My son… my son," the warrior didn't realize she was speaking out loud, as she mumbled, "so many splinters to the future, each leading to death and destruction, only one way…I see only one way..." the warrior closed her eyes in desolation. Even the reassurance of her friend's hands gently pulling her into a warm embrace gave the mother-to-be no comfort.

"Valeria, if you stay, it will be you that condemns your unborn son to death. Without his mother or his blood guardian to protect him, the Wraith will flock to him like the carrion they are, and Duamutef," she hesitated, "the Son of Horus, will use him to control the city until he has reached an age to be taken as host."

Green eyes snapped opened and sparked with fire as they bore into the healer's, the anger directed toward the Goa'uld within. "Know this, if your child's son should raise a hand against my infant son, he shall face the full wrath of an Ancient Warrior…a wrath he will not survive."

"And I will help you destroy him. I have given you my bond," the Goa'uld spoke out, taking control over the host body.

"Who has Duamutef taken as host? Which Lantian was foolish enough to listen to his lies?" Valeria demanded.

"Aiyanna sent four others besides myself back through the gate after Argos ascended," Nadia replied, taking over control of her body.

"Melia of the High Council was one, young Aquene was another, Cheveyo…"

The healer cut her off. "Cheveyo was fatality wounded, and ascended alongside your mate. It was Tyrus and…" Atlantis shuttered. "What?" Nadia glanced around.

Before Valeria could answer, Danaus' deep voice sounded throughout the chamber, "Commander Valeria, please report to Central Control."

The Commander slanted her head, letting the healer know that she was speaking to her son, telepathically. _"What is the problem, my son?"_

"_Mother, one of the support pillars has sustained structural damage."_

"_How is that possible?" _Atlantis jolted again, throwing the two women off their feet.

"_Mother, we are losing the shield," _Danaus' panicked voice echoed in the commander's mind.

Stargate Atlantis

Nadia had never known a pregnant woman to move so fast; the healer was wheezing from the exertion as she raced down the long corridor behind the city's commander. "Commander…Valeria…you must slow down," she called out. Slowing to a stand still, the healer bent over, taking huge gulps of air into her over-exerted lungs.

Shaking her head in frustration, Nadia watched Valeria, the warrior never slowing as she gracefully slipped around the last corner to disappear into her office overlooking the gate room. Nadia took another deep breath, her eyes widening at the raised voices coming from down the corridor; she took a shaky step to join the arguing pair when the city once again shuddered violently, slamming her unprepared body into the wall, her head impacting solidly and painfully against the unyielding material. White fog danced on the edge of the healer's vision as she slid down the wall. The Goddess within shook with rage, screaming at her host to move, recognizing the deep male voice that was threatening the commander. The Goa'uld struggled to stave off the growing darkness, the host lips moved, but no sound was uttered, causing eyes to flash white, Isis screamed in a forced silence at the betrayal, even as darkness took them both.

Valeria entered her office at a run, barely pausing to mentally will the door open in time, only to slide to a stop in shock at the figure leaning over her desk, working the manual controls that allow any Lantian with the proper code to interfaced with Atlantis' computer and, therefore, her sister, Minerva. "Tyrus, what are you doing?" her raised voice demanded.

The Lantian male turned his head at the question and told her, "Something that should have been done months ago, Commander." He continued to work the controls as he stated, "It is time for us to go home.

"Yes it is, but this is not the way," Valeria moved closer to the Lantian male, "I order you to stand down and back away from the control interface."

I no longer follow your orders, witch." The male moved with cat like grace, leaping across the room, bringing his weapon to bear on the commander.

The female warrior stood taller, squaring her shoulders, then looked the young Lantian in the eyes as she cocked one eyebrow up, 'And just whom do you follow, young one?" Her voice was low, tantalizing as she took a step closer to the weapon in the Lantian's hand.

"I follow my God," the male answered, taking a step back from the advancing warrior. The young Lantian's eyes took on a confused look, glancing down at the weapon in his hands, then back at his commander, "Commmaaannnddeerr…" His hand started to shake, even as his fingers tightened on the firing button.

Valeria tilted her head back, closing her eyes. Concentrating, the commander's consciousness washed over the younger Lantian's mind, seeking the Goa'uld within. Deeper and deeper her consciousness went, searching for evidence of a parasite wrapped around Tyrus' vertebrate nervous system. Finding no sign of the leech the commander pushed her consciousness into the dark corners of Tyrus' mind. Shifting through the fog-like atmosphere, Valeria eyes latched onto the shimmering iridescent threads leading directly into the young Lantian's cerebrum.

Her eyes snapped open, her strong rich voice vibrated throughout the vast city, "Release him; I command you." Her green colored eyes turned golden as they narrowed, her voice intensified and repeated, "Release him."

The young male moaned, his hand trembled as he fought to turn the weapon away from his commander. His mouth moved, but his voice was silenced. His eyes pleaded with the woman to run, escape the danger. "I will not abandon you, Tyrus," Valeria said, reading the apprehension in the younger Lantian's emotional eyes.

"Commander Valeria, please respond," Danaus' distressed voice startled them both. "We are losing power; the shields are down. I repeat, the shields are down."

Startled, Tyrus diverted his eyes for a moment and that was all it took for the commander to strike. Valeria's arm shot out, palm flat, striking the young male in the jugular, followed by a painful strike to the kneecap. Both heard the bone snap, forcing the male to the ground onto his good knee. The woman warrior, flipped around, one arm going around Tyrus' neck, the other reaching around to hold his chin. "I only have to twist my wrist and you will be dead. Reach inside, young one and take back control." Valeria could feel the youth's breathing settle into a normal rhythm. "Who do you follow, Tyrus?"

"Myyyy Lady, "Tyrus fought to keep his emotions in check, he had raised a hand to the Commander of Atlantis, the one he had pledged his allegiance to. "Forgive me," the young Lantian beseeched, knowing the woman had the power to end his life. "What? What?" Tyrus glanced around the room, confused he asked, "What is happening to me?" The commander's grip slacked off, however she did not release her hold.

"What do you remember?" the commander asked.

"I was working with the power modules, checking them before we submerge the city." Once again the great city trembled, forcing Valeria to release her grip and take a step back, locking her knees. Tyrus fell forward, the weapon in his hand concealed between his chest and the floor.

When the city settled again, Valeria called out, "Tyrus, what did you do?" The warrior circled around, kneeling at the young Lantian's head, her back facing the doorway. Placing her hand on his back, Valeria took a deep breath and closed her eyes; the Commander of Atlantis drew upon the ancient power of her bloodline.

Tyrus felt the commander's hand on his back and braced himself for the deathblow, but after a few moments of feeling only Valeria's warm hand through the cloth of his uniform jacket, he became aware of a warm feeling that soon turned into a tingling sensation as it spread throughout his body, "I…I… powered down the module link to the city's interface." A weak sob escaped Tyrus' lips as he realized he had unknowingly, betrayed his people. "Why…why would I do that My Lady?"

"You were not in control, Tyrus," Valeria placed her hand on his dark hair, brushing it out of his eyes as he looked up at her. "Concentrate… focus on that moment, let me into your mind." The young man nodded his head, "Yes, yes, I can almost…" Tyrus screamed, pushing Valeria from his mind; at the same time, his hand shot out… the hand that held the weapon.

Valeria's world turned red as the beam of light sliced through her side, before striking Tyrus in the chest. He died instantaneously, his body falling backwards. The woman fought to remain conscious as her hand went to her side to find it was sticky and wet. Shocked, Valeria looked down to find her hand was covered in blood…her blood.

Valeria screamed when a hand fell on her shoulders, "Sister, it is only I Malachi,"

"Brother?" the commander's back arched and her eyes opened wide as a contraction hit her; she gripped her twin brother's hand hard, screaming in pain.

"Hush, sister, it will be over soon," Malachi glanced around the room. Through the glass partitions, he could see everyone frantically working at the main consoles down in the control room. Yanking his hand out of his twin's powerful grip, he placed it on her quivering stomach. "You want to be born, infant? How about now?" Malachi pushed down hard, forcing a scream of pain from his twin.

"Malachi?" Valeria asked between deep gasps, her voice full of pain. A pool of liquid spread across the woman's lower body. Too early…too early. Nadia, need Nadia. Go get Nadia, she will know what must be done." Another contraction ripped through the warrior's back, forcing a mental scream to echo throughout the city as the woman called out telepathically to her friend and healer.

Through the pain, Valeria felt herself being dragged to her feet. "Time to relinquish control of the city to me, my sister," a deep, male voice whispered in her ear.

Her mind muddled by the painful contractions ripping through her body, she called out in confusion, "Malachi, help me over to the control interface, I must…must…" She braced herself against the next contraction, biting her bottom lip as it ripped through her body. Her hands went around her stomach, cradling her unborn child as he fought for his life.

Valeria leaned into the strong arms surrounding her waist; riding out the last contraction with her back supported against her brother's muscular chest. Breathing hard and fast, she was startled when she felt her brothers' hot breath against her neck as he whispered, "Time for you to rest, my sister, and let me take up the burden of command."

The next moment, the dark haired woman found herself being pulled roughly along by her brother until the twins stood in front of the interface console, "We need your code to deactivate the interface, Valeria. Let me in, my Queen."

Breathing hard and fast, she made to take a step towards the interface, then hesitated, something tingling in the back of her mind, "Deactivate… my code… I need no…" Valeria's body shuddered as her head swung back and forth in denial, "We? NO, please no." The woman's eyes widened as the realization hit. Tyrus had died, not in an attempt to kill her, but protect her. Protect her from the one standing behind her in the doorway. Protect her from her own blood, her own twin Malachi.

Fingers dug painfully into the commander's pale flesh, pulling her back, "Fight me, my sister, and I will forcibly take the unborn child from your body." Valeria screamed out in agony as her brother pulled her body back against his chest and, wrapping his arms around her waist, he placed both hands on her swollen abdomen and pushed down hard.

Valeria's scream ripped through the base as she struggled to fight off the oblivion that was creeping into her mind. If she fell now, she would doom her unborn son to a life of horror and servitude.

She had underestimated the parasite; she was a fool, and her unborn son would pay the price. The Goa'uld had taken the perfect host, the one she, the Commander of Atlantis would never doubt. Her whole being shook with rage at the knowledge. Calling upon her hidden power, she sang out to Minerva for strength.

The fury that danced in her eyes glowed brightly as she interfaced with the great city for the last time; she could fight to the death, taking her baby son with her or she could escape through the gate the voice whispered in her mind. No matter which choice Valeria made, her beloved sister would be sentenced to a life of loneliness for a very, very long time. The great city might not survive the ages, waiting for her eldest son to have sons to fulfill their destiny. Turning inward, Valeria's soul wept for the life of her unborn son. But, the warrior within, the Commander of Atlantis, would not hand over the last of Lucetius' bloodline to a Goa'uld.

Using her pain to strengthen her resolve, the warrior slammed her heel down hard on her attacker's foot, then drew both hands together, interlocked them and swung back hard, catching her brother in the face. Free, she took off, guided by Minerva's strength, for the survival of the unborn child within her.

The warrior stumbled down the corridor, toward the balcony, overlooking the gateroom. Blinded by pain, she felt her way down the hallway. Tripping over a body, she fell to her knees, crying out in pain as another contraction struck.

Tears welled up in her eyes as they refocused and fell upon the unconscious body of her friend, "Oh, Nadia… please, wake up." Valeria shook the healer's body in desperation, "Please, Isis, answer me, you gave your bond."

"Witch…" Valeria felt her long, dark hair gripped and yanked back as a weapon was pressed to her head, "I could kill you know and take your infant from your dead body."

"You fool…" Valeria screamed, clawing at the hand holding her. "Minerva!" she cried out. The warrior shoved her elbow in her attacker's chest and scrambled to her feet. She stumbled her way to the steps leading down. A weapon discharged near her head and the warrior decked, stumbled, and then tumbled down the steps.

Atlantis shuddered; lights flickered throughout each level of the city, and then went out. Every Lantian, male and female closed their eyes in fear; the city was in trouble. As suddenly as the lights went out, the city jerked, then plunged downward. Amid screams of panic echoing in the dark, the Lantians scrambled to hold on as the city plunged through the ocean to the depths below.

Only one male Lantian had the strength and willpower to stand his ground as the city raced to the ocean floor. Glassy, green eyes narrowed in anger before turning hazy and dull, as an alien force took control, he made his way over to the gate's dialing control board and started to push the address to _terra, humus_ as the voice inside his mind commanded him.

As each symbol on the gate activated, it was met with silence as the eighth chevron lit up and the swirl of the wormhole exploded outward before reversing, leaving the room shimmering in its greenish tint.

Valeria's back impacted with the gate room floor. Moaning, she pulled herself to her feet. She swayed in the dim light, leaving a trail of blood as she stumbled toward the open gate.

"Valeria!" The Goa'uld within Malachi's body howled from the lower steps, "You may escape, but know this. If you leave, I will kill them all." Duamutef, Son of Horus', double-layered voice etched around the chamber. His bright, glowing eyes settled on Valeria's eldest son standing behind the center console.

The warrior kept moving toward the gate, one foot in front of the other. Reaching the gate, all she would have to do is take one step and she would be free. A howl of pain escaped Valeria's lips as she felt her unborn son slip down in the birthing canal as the hardest contraction yet tore through her body.

"He'll watch as I take his mate as my Queen in your place. Then I'll rip out his heart and feed it to the Wraith as she watches," Duamutef threatened moving closer to the gate and his goal.

Valeria turned to face the Goa'uld, her and her baby son's destiny was upon her. It was time to choose, "Forgive me, my little warrior. A life for a life… I love you." Placing the flat of her palms close together in front of her chest, she closed her eyes; her body shuddered as her mental power built, the energy crackling between her palms. The warrior's hands glowed as she spread them out, a sphere of electrical charged energy hovering between them. Her hands dropped away, falling to hang limp at her sides. She would have to time this to the exact moment of impact. A smile lit her eyes at the sight of the Healer stumbling down the steps, knowing her people would survive; her mind turned inward to the small being hanging by a thread to life.

"_I love you, my little warrior." _At the first twinge of a contraction, Valeria pushed down, and started to let go of her life. As she ascended, the heated liquid bubble that she had formed would encase her infant son, forming an artificial womb as her body dissipated and disappeared.

"Valeria…no!" Minerva's mental cry reverberated through Atlantis as she sensed her sister's unborn child's umbilical cord wrap around his neck. The infant would literally hang himself as he dropped into the sphere.

Minerva flashed an image of the baby's impending death into Valeria's mind and the warrior screamed, frantically turning her mental power inward, searching for the thread of life, losing her concentration and control of the sphere. The energy sphere pulsated; building in strength to a magnitude greater than a sun could produce, growing to encompass the Stargate.

The Stargate flickered as the energy danced around the gate caused the wormhole to pulsate. The roar from her twin made the warrior's head snap back in time to see him impact with her body, sending the two of them stumbling backwards, into the event horizon at the same time the sphere exploded, plunging the city once more into darkness.

Deep down in the bowels of the city, the spirit of Atlantis screamed in agony as the ghostly figure of Minerva raced to strengthen the shields surrounding the city, preventing it from being crushed by the pressures of the deep.

The apparition stood with her arms out, eyes closed as the enormous city settled on the ocean floor. A soft sigh could be hear throughout the silent structure as the translucent apparition dissolved back into her body as it lay in the stasis chamber, concealed in the lower level of the city. There she would wait, suspended, regaining strength until she was needed once again.

Stargate Atlantis

_"Easy, Danaus," Nadia said to the young man returning to consciousness; she gently brushed his blond hair out of his eyes. The healer's head shot up as her body unconsciously shuddered. The city felt different, cold, lifeless. _

_"__Matris__?" The young scientist choked out, grabbing the delicate hand of the healer, "Cold… I feel cold." A slit of green peered from under pale eyelashes, "How long have I been out?" _

_Nadia couldn't look him in the eyes as she spoke. "Too long," she whispered. _

_Danaus released his grip on the healer, and then with her help, the young man pulled himself into a sitting position. "Can we dial out?"_

_"They are attempting to power up the gate. Now, as for how long you were out," the healer hesitated, choosing her words carefully, "Danaus, you hit your head pretty hard against the console." _

_"We are under the surface," Danaus gasped as he realized, "The shield?"_

_The healer closed her eyes, liquid pooling around her eyelids, "The shield is holding." _

_"How?" Danaus asked, confused. The city should have been crushed from the pressure of the ocean depths. _

_"Valeria…" One small tear fell, traveling a path down the healer's cheek, "She… she sacrificed..." Nadia couldn't continue as more tears flowed; she raised her hands to her face concealing her grief from prying eyes. _

_"Matris," _Danaus called out, audibly as well as mentally, into the darkness. Using the control board to pull himself from the floor, he pushed Nadia away, calling out again, _"Mother, please answer. "__ The tall blond stared at the silent gate. _

_"Dial __terra humus__, Danaus," Discordia said, walking up behind her mate. The stress of taking command was evident in her tone of voice. The Stargate glowed as the first chevron locked into place. Discordia's eyes closed as she listened to each level as they reported in. The damage was widespread and extensive with flooding in some of the lower levels. As the last symbol for terra humus locked, the tall blonde warrior spoke, her voice low, but commanding, "Danaus, you must go. Take Nadia and search the outpost for the commander. We will start evacuating within the hour." The tall warrior locked eyes with the healer, her voice failing to ask the question that her pale blue eyes held._

_"I do not know. Valeria never foresaw…" she stop speaking at the look of devastation that rose on the two young Lantian's faces. Knowing that it was too early for the infant to be born, she added in a softer tone, "the twins may have survived the journey; however, two hours is a long time for…" Nadia could not say the words, so Danaus finished for her._

_"Our little warrior would not have survived. Is that what you were going to say?" Danaus' voice cracked, his eyes filled with grief at the loss of his mother and the baby brother he would never know._

_The gate sprang to life behind them, "We should go now, Danaus, if we are going to be any assistance to them." Nadia turned and walked towards the event horizon. She paused briefly, the Goa'uld within glanced around the city she had grown to love. Unnoticed by the Lantians, her eyes flashed, glowing white as the Goa'uld Isis vowed that she would honor her bond with Valeria and return, before walking through the gate. _

_Danaus took his last glance around the city, also, "Discordia…I…"_

_"I love you, my heart. Now, go search for our Commander." Danaus leaned over and kissed his future mates' lips, then turned and ran through the wormhole._

SGAM7

The twins were flung from the gate locked in battle, hands around each other's throats. Valeria's eyes glowed with fire as she mentally shoved Malachi down a ramp. The male twin flew through the air, striking the far right wall. The Goa'uld's eyes flashed momentary as his head impacted the concrete wall; the host's unconscious body slithered down the wall, landing in a lifeless puddle.

Valeria stumbled down the metal ramp, slowly making her way to the farthest wall from the Goa'uld, collapsing to her knees as a contraction hit her, starting in her lower back and extending around to the front of her abdomen. Panicked eyes took in her surrounding; the cold gray structure was not the bright, warm welcoming walls of home. The very air felt different, something had changed. Valeria clenched her eyes closed as another contraction hit, gasping for breath. All thoughts of her circumstances were lost as wave after wave of pain assaulted her body.

The birth was imminent and she lay down on her back. Valeria lifted her long robe above her waist and then raised her hips, thighs apart, feet flat on the floor. Wild, golden eyes opened to glance around the room once more; it was time for her son to be born. Valeria closed her eyes and mentally pictured the crown of her baby's head inside the birth canal. Taking a deep breath to calm the panic as she sensed the umbilical cord wrapped around her son's neck, Valeria mentally tried to slip the cord gently over the baby's shoulder, but failed as the baby slipped further down the birth canal, tightening the cord around the infant's soft vulnerable tissue.

She cried out, her anguished voice low and weak, the commander was running out of time. Refocusing, Valeria used her life-force energy to sustain the life of her baby while her own lifeblood flowed from her. Arching her back off the floor, Valeria screamed out in pain and frustration as another contraction hit her hard. She was losing the child; the cord was wrapped too tightly around his neck. Panting heavily and refusing to give in, the woman once again pictured her son's tiny neck and the cord that threatened it, causing beads of sweat to pour off the mother's forehead. She concentrated once again on lifting the cord with two invisible fingers, and then mentally, using her sharp mind, sliced through the cord and unwound it from around the neck. Her painful cry ripped through the air as the baby's shoulder came forward and soon the head of the small male form materialized.

Two unseen hands supported the infant's body as the abdomen and then hips emerged. The infant's small form floated above the floor before slowly, the invisible hands hovered the infant over the new mother's chest as fluid drained from its nose and mouth.

Exhausted, Valeria took the infant in her solid hands and turned onto her side as she slipped two fingers into the tiny mouth to clear it of blood and mucus. Panic filled the new mother's heart. Her son had yet to take his first breath. Valeria took a deep, calming breath and then started to stimulate the small, thin body by rubbing its back gently. The mother placed her other hand, palm out, above his small chest, sending the last reserves of her strength into its small lungs.

A small cry escaped from the baby's little mouth and Valeria wept; raising her child to her abdomen, she laid the infant on his side. Both mother and child were covered in blood and breathing hard. Bringing her breathing under control, Valeria pulled her young son to her chest, and painful opened her outer garment, sliding the newborn to her breast. The baby immediately attached its little mouth around the nipple, suckling the needed nourishment from his mother.

Time stood still as mother and son bonded for the first time, but the moment was cut short as a low moan rose from across the room and the sound of running feet sounded from outside the chamber. Frantic, realizing her son was still in danger; Valeria painfully pulled her newborn away from her breast, his small, pouting cry slicing through the air.

Sitting up with her back against the gray wall, Valeria placed her son in her lap as she ripped the bottom of her robe, making a small blanket to wrap her child in. Darkness threatened her awareness as she felt her blood continue to flow. Dull, pain-filled eyes explored the small, enclosed chamber; behind her, the Stargate was cold, silent. She was trapped; her body was ready to move on to the next level of existence, but her heart refused and she pulled the small bundle tight against her chest.

Movement across the room pulled Valeria's attention away from her newborn son. Carefully, she leaned over and kissed her son's forehead, then placed him gently on the cold floor, pushing him, swaddled in the ripped robe, into the far corner, out of sight. She stood on trembling feet; the warrior took a painful step forward, placing her body in front of her child.

Malachi shook his head to clear the fog shrouding his mind, settling for leaning his head back against the cold wall; the young Lantian opened his eyes slowly and gasped out loud, "Valeria." His younger twin sister was on her feet, swaying, covered in blood; her eyes were open wide, golden in color. A savage snarl escaped her lips as she raised her palm to strike.

Struggling to his feet, Malachi called out, "Valeria, no…" the power build up was massive, and the ground beneath the twins shook. "NO!' the Goa'uld roared, the white in his host's eyes flashing brightly. After struggling for domination, the serpent within triumphed over the ancient mental power of the Lantian host and raised his host's hand, palm out.

The heavy metal door slammed open at the same time a beam of light swept across the chamber, engulfing the woman warrior in its light. Valeria's golden eyes filled with terror as she disappeared in the light.

The room exploded in chaos.

Stargate Atlantis

Traveling through the lower levels of Cheyenne Mountain was cold, hard duty as Lieutenant George Hammond had discovered as he stepped out of the elevator, making his nightly rounds. It had been two days since the incident with the four travelers from the future. The young man wondered if they had made it back to their time safely. That thought had been replaced by a feeling that had Hammond on edge. There was an odd feeling that something important was going to happen; he'd had it since the arrival of the strange circular, stone object that now resided in the lower launch bay. It was what kept drawing him back down to the lower levels of the complex.

Going from door to door, the lieutenant poked his head into each of the empty rooms; finding nothing out of the ordinary, he kept moving. Tonight would be his last round; in the morning, he was being transferred to Fort Braggs, as punishment for losing his prisoners. Lost in his thoughts, the young lieutenant failed to feel the first shudder that shook the walls of Cheyenne Mountain, however, he could not fail to hear the warning sirens that sounded throughout the complex. Evacuation alarms, all levels were to evacuate to ground level.

The once empty corridors of the base soon filled with airmen, calmly but urgently heading toward the exits. Hammond pushed his way past the fleeing soldiers toward the main launch pad.

As he passed through the doors of the pad, he was pushed roughly out of the way by a panicked airman; Hammond reached out and grabbed the enlisted man's arm, jerking him around, glancing at the airman's name tag, "Johnson, control yourself."

Panicked, fearful eyes locked on the lieutenant's, "Don't go in there… dead… all dead." The airman struggled out of Hammond's hold, making a frantic dash toward the elevators. It was then that the lieutenant took in the undressed state of the airman running away.

"Airman…" Lieutenant Hammond called out to the panicked soldier. However, the urge to enter the metal doors was too strong for Hammond to disregard. Shaking his head, he turned, pulling out his sidearm; he cautiously entered the launch pad. His eyes fell upon the three lifeless bodies at the base of the metal ramp. Dropping to his right knee, gun held between both hands, his eyes searched the room for an intruder. The Lieutenant slowly made his way to the three soldiers, checking the first two for signs of life. Finding none, he moved to the last body. The ground had stop shaking, indicating that the earthquake was over.

At the sight of the stripped third soldier, Hammond cursed under his breath. Spinning around, George started for the door to pursue the intruder that he had allowed to pass only a few moments before. The lieutenant had reached the heavy door when a muffled cry reached his ears. Turning, the young soldier's eyes narrowed, searching until they fell upon a bundle of shifting cloth, shoved against the furthest wall near the base of the ramp.

Cautiously, the lieutenant made his way over to the bundle and bent down on one knee. His heart almost stopped at the sight and smell of the blood that covered the cloth; pulling back the ripped piece of the cloth, George gasped at the tiny black haired infant calmly staring back at him.

At that moment, George Hammond lost his heart as a tiny pale hand wrapped around his finger, "Well, hello there, son."


	2. Chapter 2

ACT 1 

**AFGHANISTAN January 2003**

Colonel Jack O'Neill stumbled as the rebel shoved him across the threshold of the cell. He whirled around just as the door slammed shut and reached the barrier as the lock engaged with a loud and ominous snap. "Hey you stupid moron, what part of 'take me to your leader' didn't you understand?" O'Neill stumbled forward, wrapping his fists around the iron bars, banging his forehead, "Stupid Jack, stupid."

"Jack?"

O'Neill spun around, searching the darkness for the owner of the voice.

"Daniel?"

"Jack."

"Daniel."

"JACK"

The colonel's lips curled into his patented 'shit-eating' grin, "Nice little vacation spot, Danny." Cold, black eyes took in their surroundings. "How's the room service?"

"JJJJJJJJJJaaaaaaaaaacckkkkkkkk," Daniel Jackson, civilian member of SG1 pushed his lips forward, sulking.

"Anything good on the menu? Ya know I missed lunch and I'm dying for a big, fat juicy hamburger," Jack carried on with his tirade as he made his way over to his cellmate.

Jackson rolled his eyes at his friend, "No Jack. Hamburger, steak, nor chicken is on the menu."

"Bet they don't have beer either. Darn poor management if you ask me." Jack smirked, knelling down in front of his teammate. The colonel's eyes narrowed, his voice low and sober, "You hurt?"

"No." Daniel replied, getting his first good look at his best friend's dirty, bruised face asked in return, "You?"

"Oh, you know… peachy… just peachy," O'Neill declared as he dropped heavily on the ground next to the linguist.

"What are you doing here, Jack?" Jackson's brows lifted, knowing Jack hated the desert, specially this piece of dust bowl.

O'Neill did a double take. "Excuse me? And just where did you assume I would be? You were due to radio in three days ago, due back at base yesterday. No word from you. No signs of you. 'No requests for more time'. No 'This could be the key to understanding our existence. Everyone, everything's existence,' call."

Daniel Jackson's eyes widened as he protested. "I never said that…never…not exactly like that…" he tilted his head and frowned. "Did I?"

"You think?"

Jackson's hands flew around as if to erase the image of the words. "Okay…maybe something like that. But I'm sure that it was very important."

O'Neill rolled his eyes at the younger man's statement before dropping back to lean against the rough textured wall. "It's always important to you, Danny." Jack closed his eyes and relaxed.

Daniel watched the older man as he seemed to doze off. It was a testimony to the soldier in O'Neill that allowed the man to nap anywhere. Jackson envied him that.

After several silent moments, Jackson was about the open his mouth when O'Neill spoke. "What?"

Daniel frowned as he questioned back, "What?"

With a sigh, Jack pushed up and turned to the younger man. "Yes, Daniel. What? You've been staring at me. What do you want to know?"

The archeologist's eyes and mouth rounded. "Oh…well…I was just wondering what the plan was."

"Plan? What makes you think I have a plan?"

Daniel pulled back slightly, his head nodding and his eyebrows rising, "You always have a plan, Jack. Are Teal'c and Sam here?"

Jack shook his head and relaxed against the wall once more, closing his eyes. "Nope. No T. No Sam. No plan. Just hanging out…waiting."

"Waiting?" Jackson frowned as he studied the older man. "Waiting for what?"

"For someone to notice that I'm missing…that you're missing…you know…waiting." Crossing his ankles, Jack scrunched down and crossed his arms across his chest and went to sleep.

Daniel Jackson stared at the man for a moment before copying the man's posture and trying to rest also.

"Daniel…you're mumbling."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Just don't do it again."

"But…"

"Annnt."

"Jack…"

"Daniel."

"Right. Rest. Got it."

"Thank you." After a few seconds, Jack's left eye peeked open, glancing over at the linguistic, checking to make sure he was resting. Shaking his head, Jack checked his watch. Amateur jackass didn't even take his watch. The colonel settled back down to wait, a wicked grin on his lips. Revenge is so sweet.

Silence descended on the small cell.

SGAM7

Larabee stared at the man in front of him. The base commander stood, feet braced, his hands clasped behind his back, returning the younger man's gaze with steel gray eyes, overshadowed by bushy gray brows. Though the man was obviously in his sixties, his posture was ramrod straight, the result of the thirty-four years of military service. And he'd be damned if he would be intimidated by some ex-Navy Seal, turned damn enigmatic back ops team leader, 'I'm here at the direct request of the President', stony-eyed Commander.

"I don't understand, sir. You're refusing to help us go rescue Americans?" the blond team leader asked.

The man drew himself up straight before speaking. "I've already told you, Commander I've already lost two men. I don't intend to lose any more. This is not a military action and therefore I am not required to risk my men or equipment to assist you."

"Sir, we only need one chopper and a pilot. He drops us off and leaves. That's it."

The base commander seemed to consider the appeal for a moment and then his head moved sideways in the negative. "I regret that I cannot comply with your request. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a base to attend to."

As the Air Force commander strode purposefully away from the Special Ops team leader, the six men under that man's command held their breath. Since the team had been brought together, they had not failed in any mission they had undertaken. The men didn't have to wait long for Larabee to react.

Chris Larabee stood momentarily stunned by the man's refusal, considering where the assistance request had come from. He could understand the commander's reluctance to risk more men, but General Hammond had made the request to the President who had sent the request on to Travis. No way was Larabee going to accept defeat before the battle even started.

As the blond team leader stepped out, the team sharpshooter felt a presence at his shoulder. Turning he came face to face with an Air Force Major. Where the hell did he come from? Vin wondered. Hazel eyes gazed into blue and the two men sized the other up. With a glance in the direction the two commanders had taken, the Major leaned in slightly and said softly, "If you want a ride, meet me on the flight line. Ten minutes."

Vin frowned slightly, his jaw muscles flexing, as he watched the Major amble away.

"Trouble, Vin?"

Tanner looked around to see the rest of the team watching the Air Force Major move off. "No, I don't think so."

The others watched as the ex-Ranger keyed his throat mike. "Brimstone?"

A moment passed before they all heard Larabee respond, "Tracer?"

"Yeah, we got a ride if ya want it."

The Special Ops team could see their team leader stop and turn toward them. Moments later, the blond rejoined his team, his eyes turned on the young sharpshooter. "Talk to me."

With a nod in the direction the Major had disappeared in, the Lieutenant explained. "One of the flyboys says he'll take us in."

Chris glared at the younger man. "Against the base commander's orders?"

The younger man shrugged.

Glancing around, Chris considered his opinions. Making a decision, the blond nodded and stepped out, six men following closely on his heels.

Approaching the airstrip, the seven men paused, looked for their mysterious pilot. Their attention was immediately captured by the appearance of the dark-haired major moving out of the shadows of a large hanger. Larabee made a grumbling noise in his throat as he changed direction and headed toward the man.

"I hear you need a ride."

"General Stafford said 'no pilot', so why?"

Major John Sheppard returned the intense gaze from the blond Special Ops team leader, his voice soft as he replied, "The two men that were lost? They were friends-good friends. I don't want their deaths to be for nothing. If there's a chance that Colonel O'Neill can be rescued, then I want in on it."

Chris' eyes narrowed with suspicion. A tense moment passed before Larabee extended his hand. "Larabee."

With a slight smile that did nothing to remove the grief in his eyes, the Major grasped the offered hand. "Sheppard." Nodding at the others, Major Sheppard cocked his head to the side. "Load up, gentlemen."

The Special Ops team made short work of loading and buckling up. The Sikorsky Black Hawk was a familiar ride for the team and they quickly settled in.

As the seven men settled in the back, Sheppard was quickly preparing for takeoff, his eyes surveying the area as his hands flipped switches. Slowly, the blades began to whine and spin.

"Come on, come on," he murmured. As the rotors reached full power, he surveyed the area again and caught sight of headlights moving toward the flight line. Turning his head, he called over his shoulder, "Hang on, boys, we're going up." Rotating the collective, he pulled back on the stick and the big helicopter shot into the air.

The men in the back grabbed hold as the transport leapt upward.

"Damn" "Sweet Jesus" "Son of a Bitch" could be heard along with a gasp and a chuckle. The chuckle came from Tanner as he watched the security teams roll to a stop on the spot the helicopter had just vacated.

"Ah, latecomers to the party, sorry, boys, the bus just left." he commented. Smiling, he turned to ask Larabee about the mission only to find him fast asleep. Shaking his head, the young sharpshooter returned his attention to the window and dark landscape below.

The Black Hawk had been cruising for a little over an hour when Larabee yawned and stretched. He glanced around at the team, checking their attitudes and readiness for the coming action. Josiah Sanchez was going over the satellite photos of the compound that they were about to assault. As was the Army medic's habit, Nathan Jackson was inspecting his medical pack. Vin Tanner was reassembling his rifle, double-checking each piece as he worked. CIA agent, Ezra Standish, was sketching in a small pad that he carried at all times, a relaxing ritual for the man. JD Dunne was checking the radio equipment, probably for the fourth time if the x-Delta soldier held true to form and Chris' second in command, Buck Wilmington, was harassing the younger man.

Satisfied that his team was ready for the coming fight, the team leader rose and headed to cockpit. Taking the second seat, Larabee slipped the co-pilot's headset on.

"How far?"

Sheppard glanced over, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "We're forty-five minutes out."

Chris nodded as he scanned the dark horizon. "Set down two miles out. We'll go in from there."

The Major nodded in acknowledgement as Chris slipped the headset back and keyed his throat mike. "Forty-five out, Wrangler."

"Got it, Brimstone."

The Special Ops team leader remained up front, watching as the desert sped past five hundred feet below. The sun was due to rise in three hours; he wanted his team on the ground and in place before red tinged the horizon.

Minutes later, the Black Hawk settled onto the sand. Sheppard shut down the engines and the blades slowed and finally stopped. Larabee had already abandoned the cockpit to join his team in the back and the Major now joined them, adjusting the pistol holster that hung on his hip as he moved.

Tanner noticed the man first and jutted his chin in the Air Force officer's direction when Chris glanced his way.

"Major?"

"Commander?"

"What are you doing?"

Cocking his head to one side, the dark haired pilot smiled as he replied, "Thought I might join you."

Larabee's head was already shaking. "Think again," he growled.

Buck was herding the team out the door as the two men spoke. After a quick glance over his shoulder, he joined the other five men on the sand, waiting for their team leader to join them.

"Commander Larabee, I'm trained in hand to hand combat. I want to help."

"Good," the blond agreed. His hand came out to stop the Major as he stepped toward the door. "You can help by staying with the chopper…just in case we need to get out of here fast."

The younger man's mouth opened in protest, but snapped closed as the Special Ops team leader stepped closer. "I appreciate what you've done for us. I know what this could do to your career."

Sheppard shrugged at the man's words.

"But…" Larabee continued. "…this is a seven man team. I don't have time to be looking out for you."

"I can look after myself, Commander," the Air Force officer countered, adding, "Besides, eight gives everyone a wing man."

The blond Special Ops team leader turned at the sound of snickers behind him and six men quieted and moved away from the open door. Turning back, Larabee confronted the younger man. "Seven man team, trained to work together. I think your services would be better suited to stay and protect our means of escape should the mission not go as planned."

Sheppard's mouth opened in protest, but snapped closed once again as the other man turned away, stating, "You're not coming, Major, so deal with it." Larabee dropped to the ground and adjusted his pack. Glancing up to see Sheppard standing in the doorway, the Commander checked his watch and then looked up. "If we're not back by oh-two hundred, get your ass back to base. If you see anybody but us, you take off and head back."

Larabee saw the defiance in the man's green eyes and prepared for a fight. But the younger officer's features softened and he nodded in acknowledgement. Chris stared for a moment before turning and marching away. Four of the men stepped off right behind the blond, falling into step behind him. The two younger members of the team lagged behind as the taller of the two adjusted the rifle case hanging from his shoulder.

John folded his legs up and sat on the edge of the open hatch as he watched. The remaining two team members looked to be the youngest on the team, though the blue eyes of the taller one spoke of age that the features belied.

Once satisfied with his equipment, the lanky man tossed a glance over his shoulder at Sheppard. With a nod, he stepped off after the others. The dark haired youth grinned at the major and tossed a hand up in a half wave before he trotted across the sand to join his team. Within moments, the desert sand hid the seven men from view and the soft breezes swept away any trace of their passing.

John Sheppard sat quietly in the hatchway, whistling softly as he swung his legs from side to side, banging his heels together. The quiet of the desert was soon replaced with the calls of nocturnal animals and the skittering noises of insects moving across the sand. Glancing at his watch, he made a noise in his throat. Five minutes had passed since Larabee's team had disappeared into the night. Jumping off the aircraft floor, Sheppard closed the hatch, adjusted his holster and set off in pursuit of the black ops team.

The team had spread themselves out at ten-yard intervals with Josiah Sanchez in the lead and Vin Tanner bringing up the rear. They were within a half-mile of the compound when the Marine Sergeant dropped to the ground, signaling contact. The rest of the team dropped and waited. Only Larabee moved as he stealthily joined the older man. The team leader quickly spied the five man reconnaissance team moving toward Sanchez's position with the east, no more than two hundred yards away. Confident and comfortable in their home territory, the men were moving causally and without much stealth. With a nod at the marine, Larabee slipped back to join the others who had gathered at the base of the dune. Moments later, a course of action had been plotted and the men moved to execute it.

Tanner joined Sanchez and the two of them moved across the narrow valley between dunes to flank the approaching terrorists. Wilmington and Standish waited to come in from the rear while Larabee slithered down the sand from their original position. Dunne and Jackson held back to intercept anyone that escaped and to watch for the approach of any other rebels.

In two minutes time, the terrorists were in striking distance. Like a shadow rising and detaching itself from the sand, Larabee swept in on the first man closely followed by the rest of his team. Chris took his man down quietly and quickly after a brief wrestling match that ended with a snap of a neck. Dropping the limp body, Larabee turned to see how the rest of the team was faring.

Tanner was wiping a bloody blade clean on his victim's own clothing while Sanchez stood, staring down at the body of a third man. Wilmington and Standish had been equally efficient in eliminating the two men in the back. Nodding at each man as they glanced his way, the blond gripped the man at his feet and dragged him closer to the sand dune. He glanced up as JD slid in next to him and they started digging shallow graves to conceal the bodies on the chance another patrol followed.

Checking the time, Chris signaled Vin to take the lead and Wilmington to drop back to the rear. Seven minutes after sighting the patrol, the SOPs team was on the move again.

The half-mile distance to the compound was covered quickly and within minutes, the seven men were laying on the sand reaffirming their plan of assault. The compound consisted of five outbuildings. Surveillance had determined that four buildings were for storage and one was a garage. All the terrorists and their captives were housed in the main building. The last satellite photos had shown a total of thirty people in the compound. The number had varied by as many as ten over the last twenty-four hour period. There was no way for Larabee to know if the five dead men were a part of the last count, so they based their plans on a confrontation with thirty armed men. Err to the cautious side was the blond's credo.

After a quick check of communications, the seven men split up to check the outbuildings before attempting an assault on the main structure. Tanner took the roof of one of the outbuildings to cover the others' advance. Larabee and Standish took one building while Sanchez and Jackson took a second and Wilmington and Dunne, a third. The fourth building was an arms storage building and they would take that one last.

A surprisingly short time later, the team was reunited after securing the outer buildings. Sanchez and Jackson had taken four men down. The two Delta team members entered the building to find three men coming toward them. The three stunned men hesitated for a split second, which was all Sanchez, and Jackson needed. A fourth man appeared moments later and Nathan's knife prowess quickly dispatched the man.

Dunne and Wilmington had run into three men. Months of rehearsals paid off as the teammates killed the terrorists with ease and without drawing the attention of the rest of the compound. Larabee and Standish took a third building only to find it empty. Each pair of rescuers checked in as well as Tanner. While Dunne and Wilmington trotted to the garage, Sanchez and Jackson took the armory, leaving Larabee and Standish standing guard behind the main building. Finding no other terrorists in the outer buildings, the team reconnected on Larabee's position with the exception of Tanner who had moved from one rooftop to the roof of the big center building. They figured they were looking at up to twenty men left in the main building with the hostages.

There were two entrances to the building and the team split up, three men through each door and Tanner going across the roof to enter through an access hatch that dropped down into a storage area off the kitchen. The sharpshooter disabled one man there, but the team lost the element of surprise when two others walked in on him. Firing two quick shots, the lanky ex-Ranger rolled under a table and sprinted out the door.

"Brimstone, I've been made."

"Where are you, Tracer?"

"Back of the building."

"Rock star and I've got him, Brimstone."

"Roger, Wrangler. Mother Hen? Hunter? Check in."

Sanchez's deep voice rumbled through the earpiece, "We're through the door, Brimstone. Three down here, but we have a crowd coming our way."

"Keep your heads down. Blackjack and me are coming."

"Roger."

Pointing in the direction of the front of the building, the two men headed toward the sound of the firefight that rang through the halls. Moving down the passageway, a flicking shadow was their only warning as four men ran around the corner. Diving to the floor, Chris and Ezra fired as they hit the ground. Two men went down even as the other two returned fire, seeking cover. Both were cut down before they found that shelter. Larabee pushed up and glanced over at the younger man. With a nod, Standish climbed to his feet.

"We best go assist our companions," he stated simply. The sound of gunfire still echoed through the building and the two men sprinted forward to aid their teammates.

Buck and JD ran toward the back of the structure, the sound of fighting dictating their destination. Rounding the corner, they saw Vin surrounded by four men. He threw a punch and connected with one man's jaw, but two others surged forward and took the lanky man down as the third man drew a long knife from under the sash at his waist. He drew his arm back but never completed the thrust as JD fired, striking the man in the chest.

As the terrorist fell to the ground, one of the two holding Tanner released him and leapt to his feet as did the man that Tanner had hit as Buck and JD rounded the corner. Buck started to raise his pistol when something hit his shoulder. Turning, he had just enough time to throw his arm up and deflect the heavy club that was coming at his head. Knocking the club away, the tall man brought his fist around and punched the man in the face. Grabbing at each other, the two men hit the ground, rolling.

Vin wrestled with the man still holding his arm. Kicking his leg out, he connected with the exposed flank and ribs. With a grunt, the rebel rolled away and Tanner followed, wrapping his fists in the loose robe. They began to roll across the floor, each trying to get the upper hand until finally Vin managed to wrap an arm around the man's neck as they lay face down on the packed dirt floor. Tanner exerted pressure on the neck in his grasp and within moments, the man went limp, but he kept the pressure on for several more seconds. Dropping the dead man, he rolled to his feet and into a squat, scanning the room with his eyes.

JD had brought his gun up to bear on the closest man and fired even as his mind registered Wilmington's grunt. The younger man chanced a look that direction and saw his partner charging his assailant. By the time he looked back, the last terrorist was on him and they hit the ground hard. The bigger man landed on top of the young soldier, punching him in the face, bouncing Dunne's head off the ground. JD struggled to get loose from the enraged man on top of him. He wiggled enough to get his arms loose, even managed to block a couple of punches, but before he could land any blows of his own, the man suddenly disappeared. Startled Dunne pushed up on shaky arms in time to see his assailant's head snap to one side with a crunching sound. A shudder ran through him even though he knew it was a necessary act. Swallowing, he started as Buck suddenly appeared at his side. Glancing once again at the dead man at Tanner's feet, JD accepted Wilmington's hand and pulled to his feet.

"Thanks."

Vin stood up and moved to the two men. His eyes met JD's and the younger man nodded.

"Thanks, Vin."

"No problem, kid."

Hearing shots from the other side of the building, the three team members gathered their weapons and took off in search of the rest of the team.

Nathan peeked around the table he was hunkered behind, jerking back as one of the terrorists fired in his direction. His eyes clenched tight as the bullets impacted the heavy piece of furniture, causing the shield to shudder. The medic spared a glance at his companion and sighed at the trickle of blood running down the man's face. The gash didn't look bad, but Jackson wouldn't relax until he could confirm the extent of Sanchez's injury.

Ignoring the scrutiny of the team medic, the marine sergeant wore a smile on his face as he exchanged fire with the terrorists, though it was not a humorous expression. Sanchez's sardonic grin was always present whenever the team was involved in a firefight, as if he had no fear of the outcome. His blue eyes cut towards the left as Chris and Ezra bolted into the room and dove for cover and his grin widened.

The two men split at their entrance with Larabee rolling up next to Sanchez while Standish landed next to Jackson. The medic put his hands out to halt the man's momentum.

"We feared that you and the Sergeant were having too much fun without us," the ex-CIA agent said, dryly.

Nathan stared at the man for a moment and then, after a shake of his head, returned his attention to the men trying to kill them.

Chris looked closely at the seeping wound on the older man's head only to have Sanchez grin and shake his head. Chuckling at the man's bravado, Larabee turned his attention to the fighting and quickly figured out that the number of insurgents was larger than they had seen in the satellite photos. He made a mental note to speak to Travis about the intel before the next mission he agreed to undertake. That train of thought died as one of the terrorists drew back his arm to toss a grenade at the Delta team.

Before Larabee could react, a shot rang out and the rebel was flung back from the impact. His head jerked up to see a dimly lit face in the roof access hatch.

"Sheppard," Chris growled. The young Major's eyes flicked toward the downed rebel, forcing the Black OP team leader to turn back. The would-be assassin lay sprawled against the far wall and as Larabee watched, the man's lax hand opened and the grenade rolled out.

"GRENADE!" he cried out.

The Black Op team hit the ground, covering their heads at the barked warning. An explosion rocked the building, followed by several smaller blasts. When the tremors stopped, Larabee's team slowly stood and cautiously moved forward. The sounds of men moaning greeted them as they approached the carnage on the far side of the room. Several terrorists had apparently been in the hallway and the first grenade had set off a chain reaction of explosions with devastating consequences. Between the shrapnel and the concussions, the men within ten feet of the explosions were decimated.

"BRIMSTONE! ANSWER ME!"

"Yeah, Wrangler. Go."

"You boys okay?" Wilmington inquired.

Glancing around first to assure the team's integrity, Larabee keyed the throat mike, responding, "We're good. Where…"

His words were cut off as the sound of automatic fire sounded from deeper within the building. The four men immediately moved toward the muffled pops. As suddenly as the gunfire started, it ended and the men froze, waiting. Chris hesitated only a moment.

"Wrangler? Tracer?"

The Texan's drawl answered the terse call. "We're fine, Brimstone. Apparently your fireworks show flushed a couple of birds our way."

Larabee's shoulders sagged in relief. Taking a deep breath, the man instructed the three men to coordinate with the rest of the team at the assumed holding cells located on the far side of the building. As Larabee and the other three started down the blood-splattered hall, Jackson called to the blond.

"What about the wounded?"

Chris never took his eyes off his destination. "If they're still alive when cleanup arrives, they can take care of them. We have a mission to complete."

Nathan glanced around, torn between his duty and his caring nature. Shaking his head, he moved away, following his teammates.

SGAM7

Malachi stood in the center of the room, listening to the sounds of explosions and gunfire that echoed throughout the building where he and the other members of the archeological team were being held. There were three others in the cell with him, two of them students that Daniel Jackson had recruited to assist him on the dig. The third man was older, a Frenchman by the name of Jacques Lenoir that acted as a guide and liaison with the locals at the site. The sound of running feet drew the attention of all four occupants of the small cell.

At the sound of the lock disengaging, Malachi and Lenoir separated, moving to opposite sides of the door as the two students remained in the middle of the room, frozen with fear. The door slammed open and two armed rebels charged in, their guns coming to bear on the two students. The girl screamed and buried her face in the boy's shoulder. The two older captives sprung forward crashing into the assassins before they could fire.

Lenoir gripped the rifle with one hand as the other took hold of the man's throat and squeezed. The Frenchman was not a tall man but he was powerfully built. The two men struggled with neither man able to overpower the other.

On the other side of the door, Malachi had reacted in the same manner but his fight was ended quickly. As he grabbed the rifle and redirected the aim, he reached for the broad bladed knife in the man's belt. Slipping the weapon free, Malachi shoved the blade into the man's stomach and twisted. Wide eyes stared at the man momentarily before the body fell to the ground with a soft thud.

Malachi did not hesitate as he stepped over the lifeless body and approached the still struggled duo on the other side of the doorway. A slight smile pulled at the man's lips as he used the blade to slice through the tendons of the rebel's forearm as he clung to the rifle. Crying out, the man released his hold on the weapon and Jacques stumbled back as the man's grip loosened and the Frenchman lost his grip on the gunman's throat.

As the gunman clutched his arm, Malachi spun the man around and plunged the knife into his abdomen. Dark eyes looked into the eyes of knife welder and fear froze the heart of the rebel.

Malachi smiled as he slowly pulled the knife upward as his other hand gripped his victim's shoulder. He leaned in close to the man's ear as pain caused him to bend forward. Whispered words followed the terrorist into death's embrace. As the body collapsed to the ground, eviscerated, Malachi allowed the bloody knife to slide from the body. Releasing the man's shoulder, he wiped the blood on the sleeve of the dead man and stood up. Motion drew the man's attention to the two students. A sneer marred his good looks as he watched the female's eyes roll back and her form slump to the ground with the male reacting slowly and his hands following her down.

Lenoir stared with narrowed eyes at the archeologist, seeing the same thing the terrorist had, but the Frenchman had seen many things in his life and learned long ago to walk away from the trouble that men like Malachi attracted, or created. Taking the rifle, Lenoir stepped to the door and glanced out. Seeing no one, he took a guard position just inside the doorway.

SGAM7

Wilmington led the way down the hallway with Dunne and Tanner following a couple of paces behind. The man knew the corridor would take him to a junction and the prisoners would more than likely down the left passage. Since the firefight a few minutes before, there had been no sign of any terrorists, but caution was exercised as they made their way to Larabee's location. As they approached the junction, Buck signaled the two younger men to wait.

Wrangler paused, listening before slowly moving to the corner. He froze as the cold barrel of a pistol pressed against his temple.

"I thought you Special Forces boys were supposed to move quietly?"

Buck cut his eyes to the right as the gun moved away from his head. Embarrassment tinged his response as he came back, "And I thought you flyboys were supposed to fly. Didn't Chris tell you to stay with the chopper?"

John Sheppard chuckled as he stepped into the hallway with the other three men. "I figured I could help." He glanced back to see the two younger men standing back a couple of feet from Wilmington's back. He grinned at them as the taller one patted a relieved looking younger man.

When JD saw the gun at Wilmington's head, he sprang forward to help only to be pulled back by Tanner. It was a rash move and the ex-Delta knew it. 'Think before you react, kid.' How many times had Wilmington told him that? Dunne tried to remember, but seeing his friend with a gun to his head drove the thought right out of his head. Good thing Tanner was better at listening. Only his restraining grip had prevented JD from plunging right into trouble. Both men breathed a sigh of relief when they saw the Air Force Major step around the corner.

"Boys," he acknowledged.

"Major," Tanner said as he moved past.

JD moved to stand in front of the major, frowning, his hands gripping his rifle tightly as his eyes bore into the taller man's. Finally, he harrumphed and turned away.

John watched the young man walk away, grinning slightly, and finally, shrugged. Apparently the boy took exception to threats against teammates. Still grinning, the major followed the three men down the corridor.

Coming around the next corner, Sheppard drew to a halt behind them. There were four doors along the left wall with one door, the first one, standing open. At the far end of the hall, Larabee and his group were just clearing the corner. With a signal, each group moved forward.

Peeking into the open door, Tanner quickly stepped past the threshold to the far side of the door. He held up four fingers to indicate the number of people in the room. With a nod of acknowledgement, Wilmington took a ready stance with his back to the wall. He indicated to Sheppard and Dunne to back them up and then he and Tanner went in, low, each man crossing to the opposite side, covering each other and the room.

Vin rolled as he moved in and crashed into the legs of an armed man, taking him down. Taking the rifle from the man took Tanner only moments. Pushing the now unarmed man away, Vin rose to one knee and covered the room with his weapon.

Buck had covered the three other people still standing in the room. His eyes took in the two bodies and blood covered hand of the older man. He concentrated his attention on him. The bodies were obviously part of the band of kidnappers and the couple on the floor had to be the students. He figured the man Vin had disarmed was the French guide, judging by the description in the report that left Dr Jackson, Colonel O'Neill, and Dr. Malachi.

After seeing the condition on the two bodies, Wilmington would have guessed the ex-black ops agent, O'Neill, had committed the deed but even that would have been a stretch considering the brutality of the killings. But he knew it wasn't O'Neill; Wilmington knew what the man looked like. And it wasn't Dr Jackson-too old. That left a choice between of Dr. Malachi or an unknown.

"And you are…?" Wilmington prompted.

"Dr. Malachi." The man spoke with a condescending tone that grated on Buck's nerves. The soldier ignored his gut reaction, it interfered with the job.

He put aside his distaste for the man. "We're here to get you out, Doctor." He glanced at Vin and nodded. The man stood and lowered his weapon as Buck called out. "Rock star, we're clear."

The two men came in from the hallway at the "all clear" signal and Malachi's head snapped around as they entered. His eyes studied the two men, watched as they entered only to hesitate for a moment. A non-humorous smile pulled colorless lips tight over his teeth as he observed their behavior.

Sheppard surveyed the room with a frown on his face. He glanced around the room as if he expected more trouble but seeing nothing, he rolled his head and shoulders to relieve the tension. It didn't really help. He still had an itch that he couldn't explain. His hand rose to rub at his temple, aware of the sudden throbbing.

JD entered the room and glanced around. He felt his heart rate increase as he moved into the room, a slight sweat breaking out on his brow. At the sight of the bodies, the blood, the condition of the one body, the young man's face screwed up in revulsion, bile rising in his throat. He swallowed several times, fighting the urge to throw up. Buck's voice in his ear drew his attention away from the gruesome sight.

"Yeah?"

"Watch these guys. We have two more rooms to check out."

"Ah…sure. I can do that."

Vin stepped toward the three captives. "I'll take the knife."

Malachi looked at the extended hand and slowly raised his eyes to meet the intense blue gaze. "The boy might need help…protecting us."

Wilmington stepped forward. "The 'boy' doesn't need help. Hand over the knife."

After a moment's hesitation, Malachi flipped the blade around, offering the handle end to Tanner. Taking the weapon, Vin slipped it into his belt and stepped away to the door.

Buck dropped a hand on JD's shoulder as he followed. "Keep your eyes open, kid."

Dunne's response was a roll of the eyes, drawing a chuckle from the older man.

John started past but paused as he observed JD rubbing the back of his neck and glancing around the room. The major leaned in close and spoke softly into the young man's ear, "Watch your back, kid…literally."

JD frowned as John followed the other two out. He took a position at the door, glancing back into the room every few seconds. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

SGAM7

Jackson and Sanchez took up positions on either side of the door as Standish worked on the lock. When the lock disengaged, Ezra slipped it off and opened the latch. With a nod from each man around him, he opened the heavy door and stepped back. The two men charged in from both sides of the door and quickly covered the occupants of the room. Larabee strolled in behind them when Jackson called an all clear.

The older man in the room leaned back slightly, an eyebrow rising.

"Larabee?" _What are you doing here?_

"O'Neill." _Returning the favor and rescuing your butt._

"Larabee." _I don't need any smart-ass remarks, thank you._

The blond team leader's mouth quirked up on one side and he repeated, "O'Neill." _Who? Me? Smart-ass remarks?_

O'Neill cocked an eyebrow at the blond.

"Ah…Jack?"

"Oh, Daniel. Larabee?" Jack turned to Larabee, his hand pointing to Jackson. "Daniel." Reversing his stance, his stated, "Daniel? Larabee."

"Daniel Jackson?" Larabee queried.

"Hello." The archaeologist smiled, waving.

"We're here to get you two out."

Daniel's eyes widened as he stepped forward. "The rest of my party…"

"They're fine. We found 'em a couple of doors down."

Larabee turned at the sound of Tanner's voice, both men nodding slightly in acknowledgement.

The sound of hands slapping together drew Larabee's attention to O'Neill as he said, "Well, then, campers, are we ready to go home?"

Larabee barked out a laugh and nodded. "Yeah. We'll call in a clean up team as soon as we're airborne."

The six men stepped outside to see Wilmington and Sheppard just stepping out of one of the other cells. "Anything?" Larabee inquired as he approached, a frown creasing his forehead and his eyes looking to Buck's left.

Buck shook his head. He watched as the blond strode past and came to a halt directly in front of the Air Force Major. "Thought I told you to stay with the chopper." Though his voice was soft, it vibrated with menace.

John stood with his thumb tucked under his weapons belt buckle and the hand holding his pistol hanging loosely at his side. He shrugged as he told the man, "I got bored."

A snort from Tanner caused Larabee's nostrils to flare as he stepped closer to the major and growled, "I didn't tell you to stay to hear myself talk, Major. That was an order."

Sheppard's eyebrows rose as Larabee spoke and he leaned back just slightly. "And you assumed that I would obey your orders after I disobeyed my own commander to bring you here?" John questioned.

Everyone knew the Special Force leader was about to explode and Buck started to step between the two men. They needed the pilot to get them home. Afterwards, Larabee could tear the man a new ass. Before Buck could defuse the situation, O'Neill moved past.

"Now, kids, let's play nice."

Both men turned to look at the colonel. Jack smiled, his hands held out in an embracing gesture. Finally, Chris huffed out an exasperated breath and shook his head. Throwing up one hand, the blond pushed past the major's shoulder and headed down the hall. He called back over his shoulder as he moved away. "Sheppard, go get the chopper and let's get out of here."

John waggled an eyebrow at Colonel O'Neill before spinning on his heel and following Larabee down the passageway. Jack grinned and waved a hand to direct the rest of the group to follow.

JD heard the conversation in the hallway and stepped through the doorway as Chris approached. Glancing around nervously, he nodded at the team leader. "Hey, Chris, how about I go with Sheppard and radio base to come sweep up?"

Larabee stopped, frowning at the younger man. "Can't you do that from here?"

Dunne shifted from one foot to the other, still glancing around as he responded. "Sure…yeah. It's just… the chopper has a stronger radio signal."

Chris was good at reading his men and he didn't like the way his youngest team member was acting. The kid was green, but had proven himself in combat before. The man didn't understand what had JD so nervous now, especially now that the base had been secured.

Before Larabee could question the odd behavior, Sheppard had joined them. Glancing into the room, John's eyes ran over the nervous youth before he turned to Chris. "I could use the kid's help, if you can spare him." The major moved around Larabee, stopping where he could see into the room behind JD.

Chris noticed that Sheppard seemed to have picked up on JD's discomfort as the man's brows drew down and his eyes darted around, watching for some unseen danger. After a moment's hesitation, the team leader nodded. "Take Buck and Vin with you, JD." The young man visibly relaxed and trotted off. "Hey, Buck, Vin. We're going with the major."

Turning to Sheppard, Chris added, "Vin has a good sense of direction. I'd hate for you to get lost in all this sand, Major."

Meanwhile, Buck groaned and said, "Great. Another hike. Hey, Josiah, why don't you go? You jarheads like to march."

Dropping a heavy hand on Wilmington's shoulder, Sanchez squeezed. "Excuse me, Brother, but I believe Chris must feel you need to exercise more than I."

Buck dipped his shoulder, trying to escape the barrel-chested man's grip. "Yeah," he puffed. "Point taken, Josiah. Thanks for pointing that out to me." Buck worked his shoulder to get feeling back once Sanchez released him. A chuckle from Dunne had to big man swatting at the youth.

Easily avoiding the swipe, JD turned and joined Tanner and Sheppard. As they stepped out, he called to the older man, "Better hurry, Buck. Vin ain't gonna wait for ya."

"Hey, I can walk twice as far as you two, any day."

Tanner laughed at this and stated softly, "Sure you can, Buck." Then raising his voice, he added, "And that would be 'cause you're lost and going in circles." With a grin, the lanky Texan trotted off, the two men with him quickly matching his strides.

"Hey, this ain't no race. You boys wait up." Watching the trio disappear around a corner, the mustached man cursed, "Dammit." He tossed the rifle strap over his shoulder and took off at a trot.

Daniel had stood next to O'Neill, listening, but now that a rescue chopper was on the way, he decided to check on his team. Moving to the room abandoned by Dunne, he leaning in and sighed in relief to see the four missing members of his dig team.

"Jacques? Malachi? Everyone all right?"

Even as he entered the room to check on the foursome, his eyes darted to the splash of color off to the side and the man had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat at the gruesome sight. He quickly crossed the room and helped Zach assist Rosa to her feet.

"Come in, guys, let's get out of here."

Jackson escorted the students into the hall, followed by Lenoir and Malachi. Standish and Sanchez scouted the remainder of the building for any surviving rebels and found a room for the group to hole up in and wait for Sheppard and their ride. Zach and Rosa sat huddled in a corner, not speaking to anyone. Lenoir pulled Daniel off to one side and informed him that he planned to take one of the rebel vehicles and drive out. The original dig site was a hundred miles south of the rebel compound with his home another hundred miles from there. The Frenchman assured Daniel that by taking a truck along with a fifty-gallon drum of fuel, he could get home easily.

By the time the sun was coming over the horizon, Josiah and Jacques had prepared a vehicle and Ezra had convinced Rosa to assist him in the kitchen assembling food for the guide to take on his journey. The two had thrown together a buffet of sorts for the remainder of the group. Everyone broke into small groups, eating quietly. Malachi had cornered Daniel and the two men were discussing the items found at the dig. They both stood and moved across the room to where Larabee and O'Neill sat.

"Jack? The kidnappers took the artifacts. We need to find them before we leave."

"Daniel…" Jack began.

"Jack, these artifacts are very delicate, very fragile."

"Danny, Danny, we can have trained people come get the stuff. Don't you want to get home? Clean up? Relax?"

Daniel's hands were waving before Jack finished talking. "Jack, you don't understand. Some of these objects… they could be very important." Jackson's face lit up as he thought about the items they had unearthed. One in particular was of great interest and Daniel had only gotten a few moments to study it before the attack. The prospect of examining the item again had the archaeologist fairly vibrating with excitement. The hieroglyphics were of a type unfamiliar to Jackson and he was excited to research it. Doctor Malachi was certain that the tablet contained Basque language.

O'Neill threw up his hands, conceding to the younger man. Larabee crooked a finger and assigned Standish and Jackson to accompany the two scientists in their search. By the time the helicopter returned, the two scientists had located the missing artifacts and were busy repacking them for transport. Tanner strolled in, followed by Buck and JD, who were arguing about something. John came in last, glancing around the room before approaching O'Neill.

"I didn't have a chance earlier, sir, but I wanted to ask about the two men that flew you out?" The major's eyes dropped momentarily, but came back up to meet O'Neill's gaze. "I just wondered...they were good friends...and..."

O'Neill's features grimaced at the memory. "Major, I wish I had known what we were flying into, but I thought I was only coming to pick up an errant Jackson. We took fire just as we were landing. They died quickly, if that's any consolation for you. The only reason I'm alive is that we were on the ground and I was in back. Friends of yours?"

Sheppard nodded, his eyes downcast.

"I am sorry."

Looking up, Sheppard met the man's eyes. "I know, sir. I've only heard good things about you. I know you take care of your people."

In an attempt to lighten the moment, Jack cocked his head to one side, saying, "Good things, huh? And who has being spreading these rumors?"

John grinned as his eyebrows and hands rose. "Oh, I have my sources. But if I told you, then I'd have to kill you. And, well, that kind of defeats the purpose in coming."

O'Neill smiled. "I understand perfectly; say no more." Clapping a hand on the younger man's shoulder, the colonel instructed him to get something to eat before they headed back. With a nod and a 'thanks', Sheppard stepped away and went in search of the kitchen area.

"…can't stay here."

Sheppard stopped at the heated words, not wanting to interrupt a private conversation.

"Zack, I can't get near that man. I can't."

"Damn Rosa, he isn't going to hurt you. Besides, there'll be plenty of people on that plane. You probably won't have to go anywhere near him."

A trembling voice responded, "Did you see his eyes? God, Zack, he **liked** it. All that blood, the…the…"

"Shh, it's okay, baby. We get back, we walk away, never have to see the man again. Okay? We just have to get out of here. You know we can't stay. We'll go back to school and forget all about this."

The girl's voice was muffled sounded as she giggled, a slight hysterical quality to the sound. "Yeah, go back and change my major. I never want to see another desert, again."

The boy laughed. "Yeah, we'll take up astronomy and study the moon. No field trips, though."

The two students laughed at the idea.

Sheppard stepped back and looked around. Seeing Wilmington and Dunne headed in his direction, he called out to them. "Hey, you guys hungry? Colonel says we can get something in here."

Pausing to give the two students time to collect themselves, he sauntered around the corner and entered the large cooking faculty. "Hey, you two, anything left to eat in here?"

Following closely behind the Air Force Major, the two special ops members entered the room noisily with Wilmington shoving Dunne into the room to stumble forward.

"Dang it, Buck, don't do that."

"Kid, ya need to learn to be light on your feet, be prepared."

Rolling his eyes, the younger man moved toward the table to see what he could find to eat. Zach and Rosa were standing on the other side of the table and assisted the youth in locating something he liked.

Wilmington and Sheppard joined the trio moments later. John looked at the young woman and smiled. "I bet you two are ready to get back," he started. Smiled encouragingly, he continued, "I'll make sure to give you a nice, quiet lift back to my base. Have you ever ridden in a helicopter?"

Seeing the two students shake their heads, the pilot grinned. "Well, then you're in for a treat. I'll even let ya sit up front."

John had felt a tinge of guilt at eavesdropping on the young couple but not now, not after seeing the looks of relief on the pair's faces. He had gotten an uneasy feeling around the Professor; he could only imagine the fear of the two civilians.

The three finished their meal and headed back to the secure room to find O'Neill talking to Daniel Jackson. There was a pile of boxes now occupying the room which the Colonel was now pointing at. They watched as the men conversed.

"Danny. Danny. We can't take all that with this. You know it's safe. Let the prof…the doc…" Jack's hand waved around in the general direction of Malachi. "You know…him."

Sheppard's eyes cut toward the man that the colonel was referring to and a shiver ran down the pilot's spine. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Dunne pulling at his tall friend's arm, eyeing Malachi as he said softly, "Come on, Buck, let's go see what the others are doing." Apparently, the young man got the same odd feeling from the doctor.

As the two men walked away, Sheppard watched Malachi through narrowed eyes. The major saw the malevolent look on the man's face at O'Neill's dismissive attitude. Suddenly, his expression changed to one of confusion and innocence and John's attention shifted to see Daniel Jackson looking at the man with an encouraging smile on his face.

"Danny, you can take one or two boxes. That's it. Now, go pick them so we can get out of here."

Jackson opened his mouth to protest, but Jack raised his hand, stopping the young scientist's words. "Danny, I'm tired…I'm dirty…I'm ready to go home, so go pick out your toys and let's go."

With a sigh, Daniel pushed to his feet and trudged away. John saw Malachi move to meet the disappointed Jackson and they began discussing which artifacts warranted first assessment.

"Major."

Sheppard turned to see Colonel O'Neill waving him over. Straightening his shoulders, he headed over to the man gesturing at him.

"Sir?"

"Is the ship ready to leave, Major?"

Nodding, Sheppard replied, "All I'm waiting on is everyone to load up." Bending down, the younger man glanced at the scientists. "You know, Colonel, we have room for most of the boxes."

O'Neill leaned over to glance past the pilot. "I know." Smiling, he patted the man's hand before standing and walking away. Sheppard shook his head at the man before going outside to prepare for the trip back to base and whatever awaited him there.

Sheppard exited the room as Larabee entered from the opposite side, three of his team in tow. As the special ops team joined O'Neill, Daniel and Malachi sorted out four boxes to be transported back for examination. After discussing their options, Larabee had Sanchez, Standish and Wilmington gather and load anything to be transported on the helicopter. Jackson and Dunne did a last check of the base parameter.

The two students had followed the pilot out the door and were already settled in by the time the rescuers and rescued congregated at the aircraft. Everyone loaded up and got settled. O'Neill had come up front only to find the second's seat occupied by Rosa. Sheppard glanced back and grinned.

"You don't mind, do you, Colonel? Rosa, here has never flown in a helicopter."

Patting the young woman's shoulder, the older man smiled graciously. "I only wanted to make sure the major was taking good care of you, young lady. We're all loaded and ready to go, Major."

"Thank you, Colonel." John eyes met those of the older man, both men knowing the thanks was not for the permission to leave as much as the understanding about the seating arrangements. With a wink and a nod, Jack moved to the back and took a seat next to Sanchez.

Two hours later, the Blackhawk landed back at the base admit a flurry of activity and commotion. The base commander met and escorted his 'guests' to their quarters. Colonel O'Neill and Doctors Jackson and Malachi were put in the officer's quarters. Larabee's team was given a vacant end of the one of the barracks. The ex-Navy Seal immediately had his team gather for debriefing and rest; thanking, but declining the commander's offer of sharing a meal with him and the others.

Daniel had asked the two students to stay and rest, but a short talk punctuated by tears and quivering requests had the two kids loaded onto a plane and headed to Germany and then back to America and home. Jackson had apologized to both for the disaster that the expedition had turned into. If he had known of the danger, he would have never brought them in and that he hoped the experience would not deter them from further work in their chosen field. Jack had stood next to the archeologist as he saw the pair off, his hands in his pockets and his lips sealed.

As the plane lifted off, they turned back to head to their quarters and some rest. Daniel thrust his hands into his pockets, mimicking the older man's posture. Pinching his lips together and pushing them out, Jackson mumbled to himself, "They'll never go on another dig. Ever. Will they?"

Jack took a deep breath before replying, "Nope."

"Yeah, I didn't think so."

O'Neill extracted one hand and patted Daniel's shoulder. "Good work, Danny."

"Thanks, Jack."

The two men split as they entered the building and headed to their rooms. While close in proximity, their rooms were down adjoining halls. Malachi was waiting as Daniel approached his door.

Jackson sighed. He had hoped to rest before dinner that evening and while he found the doctor to be a highly intelligent man, he could be, at times, condescending. Daniel wasn't sure he was mentally up to verbal sparring with the man.

"Doctor Jackson, I was going over your notes…"

Daniel stood unlocking the door to his room, his eyes closed, while the man talked. Typical of the professor, no preamble, just jump right into the subject.

"…and I hope you don't mind, but there are a few words that you have misinterpreted. Even the smallest word could have a profound effect on the translation."

They entered the room and the young linguist made himself comfortable, slipping his glasses on as the other man seated himself and continued to talk.

SGAM7

At dinner that evening, O'Neill and the others found out that Larabee and his team had flown out a couple of hours prior, headed for Washington.

"Damn. Wish I had gotten the chance to say thanks again," Jack lamented. "What about that Major? I like to thank him also."

O'Neill didn't miss the expression that passed quickly across the man's face before the commander schooled his features into a pleasant countenance. "I'm sorry to say that Major Sheppard's tour was up and his transfer came through. He left earlier this evening."

Cocking an eyebrow, the colonel looked at the man. "I see."

The evening meal was a short affair with little conversation. Soon, the three remaining people involved in the incident were once again in their rooms. Daniel knocked on the door of O'Neill's quarters and entered at the man's call.

Jack was in the small bathroom so Daniel made himself comfortable on the bed, lying back on the pillow, his ankles crossed. "You know what I think? Stafford had Sheppard's transfer ready before they landed in the desert last night."

"You think?" Jack answered back.

"You figure he's in trouble?"

Jack stared at his reflection, knowing the answer to that one without even thinking about it. But he responded, "Maybe. A little. But he'll be okay."

"I heard someone saying that Larabee asked Stafford about Sheppard, wanted him on his team or something." Seeing Jack lean back to look at him, Daniel smiled slightly. "That what you were thinking about, also?"

"Oh, yeah, that's just what I need-someone else that doesn't follow orders."

"I'm telling Sam you said that."

Daniel rolled away from the towel as it flew across the room to land on the bed. He pushed up as Jack came into the room, wiping his face down with a second towel.

"So, Jack, where did you meet Larabee?"

"Larabee…" O'Neill yanked his shirt off and tossed it across the back of one of the chairs and propped himself up at the foot of the bed, leaning against the metal framework. "Well, let's see. It's was long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away."

He chuckled at the eye roll Daniel graced him with. Jack sighed as he began. "It was years ago, during Desert Shield. I was involved in a black-ops mission to retrieve some civilians still in Iraq. Larabee was a baby faced Navy SEAL back then. His team went in with bad intel."

O'Neill swung his legs off the bed and leaned over, rested his weight on his arms. "They were captured…four of his team were killed." Pushing up, he moved across the room, slowly, just wandering, not really looking at anything. "The remaining two men were held for three days before we got in."

Jack turned and gazed at the younger man. "It wasn't easy for them. Operation Desert Storm was starting the night we went in."

"But you got him out." Daniel rose and moved to a chair, flipping it around to straddle the back.

"Yeah, we got them both out. But it wasn't easy. We had to call in an air strike to give us cover."

Running his hands through his short, gray hair, Jack clasped his hands behind his neck and stretched. "God, it…it was bad. One of two planes covering us took a hit and had to break off. The second guy," Jack dropped his hands, moving back across the room. "he stayed with us. Damn, he just stayed and stayed… covered us all the way out."

"He…ah, get back okay?"

Jack turned and dropped onto the bed. "Yeah…yeah, he got back. I checked when we got home. He got back fine. So did the other pilot."

"So, did you ever meet him?"

Chuckling, Jack shook his head. "No. Don't even know his name. Call sign was Talon, but that's all I found out. Then it was off to another job and…" He shrugged, vaguely lost in the past.

They sat silent for a few minutes. Finally, Daniel said, "Jack, I need help with that tablet."

"Which one is that, Danny?"

"The one that I called Professor Malachi in about."

Jack sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the younger man. "Why?"

Blinking rapidly, Jackson explained, "This tablet is written in a language that is beyond my expertise. He's the expert in Basque."

"So, what are you telling me?"

"I… I need him at SGC."

Jack jumped up. "Daniel, no."

The young man stood up, flipping the chair back around and moved around to stand in front of O'Neill. "Jack, I can't read this piece. There's no telling what we could learn from this artifact."

"Danny…" Jack paused, his head down. "Danny, what do you know about this guy? I mean…does he even have a first name?"

The young face frowned as his eyes flicked back and forth. Finally, he said, "Well, I'm sure…I guess…I don't know…"

"Come on, Danny. Leonardo, Marco, Paolo, Vito, do any of these ring any bells, Daniel?" Jack said sarcastically, waving his hand for added effect.

"I… I don't know him that well. He's a colleague, Jack, a Professor of History at Queens University in Belfast."

O'Neill threw up his hands. "This you remember but you don't know the man's first name?"

Jackson's mouth opened and closed several times until he simply shrugged.

With a sigh, O'Neill shook his head. "I'll see what I can do, Daniel."

The younger man smiled brilliantly as he said, "Thanks, Jack, you won't regret it."

"I said I'd try. No promises."

Holding up his hands, Jackson slowly backed away, saying, "I know you can do, Jack. Thanks. Now, I think I'll go get some rest before the trip back tomorrow."

"Night, Danny."

"Night, Jack. Thanks."

The next day, O'Neill, Jackson and Malachi boarded a plane to begin their trip to Cheyenne Mountain and the SGC.


	3. Chapter 3

**ACT II**

**ANTARTIC Early Fall 2004 **

"So…when are you going to let me take her, Lieutenant?" O'Neill sat in the back seat of the Air Force jet, flying to the McMurdo Air Base in the Antarctic. Air Force Lieutenant Mary Travis had been selected to pilot the new SGC Commander to the site of the discovery of a second Stargate.

"Now, General, you know I can't do that."

"Ah, come on, Travis. No one will know."

The woman chuckled before answering. "Sir, I'm the pilot…you're the General."

"I could make it an order, Lieutenant."

Beneath her helmet shield, Travis grinned. "Yes, sir, you could." She paused for a moment and then, "But you won't."

"And what makes you think that, Travis?"

"Because I know you, General, you don't pull rank. Besides, we're about to land." The left wing dipped as she banked toward the landing strip.

With a laugh in his voice, Jack O'Neill responded with, "I would have let you fly, you know."

"Yes, sir, I'm sure you would have."

Ten minutes later, the pair was on the ground and being transported to the command center. As they moved down the hallway, O'Neill gave instructions to the junior officer.

"I want you to fly me out to the site and then come back and wait on Larabee's team. They should be here late tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

"Also, I need you…" Jack paused and the woman turned to look at the older man.

"Sir?"

Looking off down a side hall, O'Neill held up his hands. "I…ah…I want to check something out. You go on and make arrangements for our ride and I'll catch up with you."

It was two hours later when O'Neill reappeared with a young Major.

"Travis, change of plans. Major Sheppard will fly me out. You bring Larabee's crew out after they get here tomorrow," Jack announced.

Mary Travis' face went from relieved to seeing the General to confusion. "I don't understand, sir. I was supposed to fly you out. I am your authorized pilot"

Stepping past the angry woman, Jack had moved toward the door that would take him to the flight line. The angry words drew him back. "You are still my pilot, Lieutenant. You will bring the rest of my security detail out to the site when they arrive."

Casting an eye at the Major, the woman dropped her head, nodding. "Of course, General. Sorry, sir."

Jack rolled his eyes before clapping a hand on the blonde woman's arm. "This isn't a reflection on your abilities. The Major saved my life and I haven't seen him in a while."

"I'll deliver the others tomorrow, General O'Neill."

"I know you will." He looked from the woman to the dark haired Major. "Sheppard, let's move out." Not waiting for a response, Jack headed to the door and the flight line beyond.

John Sheppard acknowledged the woman as he moved past to follow the General with a nod and a crooked smile.

Standing just outside the door, she watched the two men board the helicopter and fly away. She liked her new assignment, liked O'Neill; she had worked hard to earn this post. It irked her that O'Neill had replaced her with this other pilot, but she understood his reason. She didn't like it, but she did understand. With a shake of her head, she headed off to wait for Larabee and his team.

Travis stood at the window, watching as the plane landed and taxied to the gate. She was tense, still upset at O'Neill's dismissal the day before. Even the thought of it caused her hands to clench in anger. She had worked hard to obtain this assignment. It was a prime position, one that many pilots had vied for. After months of waiting, she had found out she had been assigned to be the new SGC General's personal pilot. She had a week's leave before reporting to Cheyenne Mountain and the new post; she had taken two days to celebrate with friends and three to recover.

'Damn' she mumbled. It really pissed her off to be usurped like she had been. Drawing her attention back to the scene on the other side of the glass, she watched the Special Ops team as they deplaned.

Dunne came off first, closely followed by Wilmington. The taller man was obviously harassing the young man about something since JD's hand was raised and waving the big man off. In response, Buck's hand came up to slap at Dunne's cap.

The barrel-chested Josiah Sanchez came out next. He hefted his duffle bag over his shoulder with ease while another bag hung from his other hand. The marine followed the first two down the steps. Nathan Jackson was directly behind Sanchez. Apparently the second bag in the marine's hand was Nathan's because the doctor was trying to capture the bag as it swung back and forth.

Ezra Standish stepped out and paused to appraise his surroundings. The ex-CIA agent picked at an invisible speck of dust before lifting his bag again and sauntered down to the tarmac.

The next man to step into the late evening light was Vin Tanner. The Texan took a visibly deep breath of the crisp air and ambled down the steps with his duffle bag in his right hand as his left gripped the strap of a gun bag slung over his shoulder.

Travis held her breath as the final member the General's personal detail moved into the artic air. Larabee pulled his black jacket tight as he surveyed the base from the high vantage point. Though she could not make out his features from this distance, she could imagine the narrowed eyes, the tight jaw. It was a face she was very familiar with. Before his promotion to the elite Special Ops team, the two of them had dated for a while. It had been an amiable split, both of them very serious about their careers, leaving little time for personal lives. She watched as Chris nodded slightly at Tanner's call to him and he strutted down to join the rest of his team, confident in the knowledge that this team was the best.

Mary took a deep breath and released it slowly as the men headed inside.

"Welcome to McMurdo, gentlemen" she greeted.

"Hey, Mary." JD called out.

'Ma'am' was Sanchez and Tanner's response.

Wilmington grinned broadly while Jackson smiled and nodded and Standish gave her a slight bow as his fingers touched his forehead in salute.

Chris walked over and stopped in front of the woman, close, but not quite in her personal space. "Mary" his voice was soft and sultry. It drew a flush to the woman's cheeks. Luckily, the rest of the team had walked past and did not see the exchange.

"I understand the General has already gone to the site?"

'Count on Larabee to break the mood' she thought resentfully. Frowning, and drawing a chuckle from the man, she pursed her lips and nodded. "Yes, he flew out yesterday. Major Sheppard was recruited to chopper him out."

Now it was Larabee's turn to frown. "Sheppard? John Sheppard?"

"I believe so. You know him?"

"We…the team and the General…met him a few months ago. Good man."

Chris' frown turned into a smile as the woman's 'humph' pulled a chuckle from him.

"I'm sure he is," she said sharply as the man laughed. "The General expects us a oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. We leave here at oh-six-thirty. I'll see you in the morning, sir." The 'sir' was more a snarl than a word.

Lt. Travis spun and stomped away, leaving the man standing, laughing at her expense. She flexed her hands to try and relief some of the tension. Men just didn't understand the struggles of being a woman in a man's world. If O'Neill had replaced Larabee with another commander, he would have raised holy hell with the man. But it was 'understandable' for the General to request a replacement pilot that he knew and apparently 'owed'. And, as a woman, she was supposed to accept the change and smile. 'Men' she muttered as the door to her quarters slammed closed.

The next morning, she rose and ate breakfast. By oh-five-hundred, she was in the hanger, performing a safety check on the helicopter. Verifying the chopper was fully fueled and equipped for the cold long flight, she clambered into the pilot's seat and waited for Larabee's team. It was a short wait as the team arrived fifteen minutes early and climbed in. Chris took the co-pilot position and slipped the helmet on.

"Ready when you are, Travis."

"Right, sir," she said tersely. Glancing back to confirm that everyone was buckled in, the woman caught Wilmington's eye and nodded. Buck was the only member of the team that knew of the previous liaison between her and Larabee. She shook her head and smiled at his rakish grin and wink. You could always count on Buck to bring a smile to your face.

Turning back, she fired the machine up and pulled back on the stick to begin the long flight to the Ancient outpost.

Larabee's team waited patiently as the elevator silently slid to a halt and, after a moment, the doors slid open. The seven men, along with Jack O'Neill, stepped from the small mechanized box and stepped into the cavernous interior. As Jack moved forward, he became aware that he was alone and turned back to stare at the team. They stood stock-still, unaware of the people in motion all around them. Seven pairs of eyes swept the area in an attempt to take it all in.

"You guys coming, or what?" O'Neill called out.

The team leader was the first to pull his attention from the wonders of the area and focus on the man in front of them. Larabee glanced at his men and sharply coughed to draw their attention.

Vin blushed slightly even as Ezra molded his features into a bland expression. Josiah pasted his best 'Jarhead. Don't Fuck with me' expression on causing Nathan to roll his eyes and shake his head. Buck appeared to notice the female sector for the first time and his eyes snapped around as his mind catalogued each one. Only the youngest member of the team seemed unaffected by Larabee's utterance.

Jack stood quietly, a hint of humor pulling at his mouth, as he watched the man and his team. "Chris, why don't you come with me and the others can have a look around while we talk?"

Chris inclined his head in acknowledgement. Nodding at his second in command, the blond stepped out to join the older man. Turning, he growled to no one in particular, "Don't. Touch. Anything." With one last glance at Tanner, the blond followed the Colonel away.

Vin looked around at the others before saying, "Well, I guess we'll just…wander around?" With a shrug, the lanky Texan strolled off with Ezra Standish at his side.

A bank of equipment to their left captured Nathan's attention and the team medic headed in that direction. Josiah clapped a companionable hand on Wilmington's shoulder before trailing after Jackson.

Buck nodded in acknowledgement before his eyes flicked to a young tech as she strode past. He started to move after the shapely brunette, but paused to glance over his shoulder and turned back with a sigh.

"JD?" the tall man called softly. Getting no answer, he approached the young man and swatted at the dark hair, saying, "Hey. Kid. You're drooling."

"Huh?" JD responded, his attention still on the wonder that lay before him.

Laughing, Buck wrapped an arm around the young man's neck, pulling the boy in close to his side. "Kid, didn't I tell you that you'd see things ya never thought possible if ya stuck with me?"

Pushing against the older man's side, the former Delta agent scoffed, "I think your words were 'Kid, you ain't going believe the shit we'll see'.

Tossing his arm out, the man said, "And did I lie?" After a pause, he continued, "Let's go exploring."

"Cool," the youth commented, grinning.

They wandered around taking in the equipment, the personnel, the hustle of activity. Rounding one corner, they stopped and stared at the chair positioned in the center of a raised platform. Glancing at each other, the duo approached.

JD tentatively stretched out his hand only to have Buck slap it away.

"Ah, ah, ah. No touching."

JD stood up straight, rolling his eyes as shook his head. "I'm not going to hurt anything."

"Well, just be sure ya don't," Buck drawled as he strolled around the cold metallic fixture. "Is it just me or is it cold in here?"

JD's laugh burst from his throat with a harsh bark. "We're in the Antarctic, Buck."

Continuing to circle around, Buck cut his eyes over to the dark haired man. "I know we're in the Antarctic, kid. I meant colder in here than else where."

JD looked around, studying the room. "Well, the shades of blue and design of the walls all give the illusion of snow, ice, hence cold." His eyes raked the area, taking in the planning and placement of chair and raised platform as his partner completed his circle and stopped next to him. "It's almost as if the entire design of the room is aimed at promoting a cool feel. Who did they say built this?"

Wilmington looked around and shrugged.

The dark haired man rolled his eyes at the man. "Buck, didn't you listen to a thing the General said?"

"Come on, kid. That's what I got you for. I'm the brawn, you're the brains."

"Brawn, huh?" Slapping at the taller man's waistline, JD chuckled.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean? I'm is excellent shape." Buck ran his hand across his abdomen as he spoke.

The boy's eyes crinkled. "Sure you are…for a man your age."

Wilmington's head shot up and his dark blue eyes twinkled. "Why you smart mouthed little…" And he made a grab at the dark head.

JD was prepared and stepped away from the man to the far side of the chair. They dodged back and forth for several moments, laughing, as JD worked to keep the back of the metal chair between them. Then JD moved left to Buck's feint to the right and immediately was wrapped in the bigger man's arms as he reached across the seat of the chair. With a crow of triumph, the big man dragged his smaller partner up and over the chair.

"Didn't we tell you to not touch anything?" Chris bellowed as he and O'Neill approached from behind the men.

"What??" Buck stammered as he released JD and spun around.

Half across the seat, JD flopped onto the seat on one hip, his legs still dangling over the arm. Placing his hands on the other arm, he started to pull himself up and out of the seat.

"STAY! Don't move," O'Neill commanded.

Dunne froze, his arms tensed in preparation of rising, his eyes wide.

"Not again," Jack grumbled as he stood with one hand in his pocket and the other scrubbing across his face.

Larabee's eyes dropped to the floor and Wilmington's naturally followed. He leapt off the platform and turned back to stare at the blue light that emanated from the floor of the two platforms.

"Wha…what…" Buck stammered.

With a sigh, Jack O'Neill slipped his free hand into his pocket. "Well…that was…unexpected." He stood quietly for a moment. "Dunne, bring up a map."

Almost before the words were out of his mouth, a celestial map appeared in the air above the chair. JD's eyes widened even more, Buck whistled softly, and Chris frowned.

Turning his head to Larabee, O'Neill smiled a humorless smile. "Gentlemen, we need to talk."

He spun on his heel and walked away, calling over his shoulder, "Dunne! Get out of that chair."

The youth shot up and away from the chair. He blinked rapidly as he gazed at the fixture, watching the blue glow fade. JD jumped slightly as Buck's arm dropped over his shoulders. Looking up into the man's twinkling eyes, he asked, "Did I do that?"

"Well, I sure as hell didn't." Bending closer, Buck continued, "And judging by Chris' expression, he didn't do it either." Both dark heads turned to look in Larabee's direction.

The black clad man stood with his hands fisted on his hips, his eyes narrowed. Green eyes flickered from the chair to his two teammates. Compressing his lips together, his gaze bore into the two men. "What part of 'don't touch anything' did you not understand?"

Buck's mouth opened but snapped closed as Larabee's hand flew up.

"Not. One. Word." Chris growled. He glared at them for another moment and then he stalked off in O'Neill's wake.

Feeling the slight tremble shudder through the slight frame under his arm, Buck pulled JD in closer. "Don't worry, kid, they can't eat ya."

Wide hazel eyes looked up, shock evident in them. Finally, the youth swallowed hard and nodded before noticing the small crowd that was gathered around the area, whispering. Scraps of hushed conversations reached the two men, '..again…Major…almost as bright…"

Buck tugged on the tense shoulders, saying, "Come on, we better catch before they send someone after us."

"What just happened?" The younger man stammered.

Seeing O'Neill and Larabee waiting just ahead, Wilmington bent close to the boy's ear. "I think we're about to find out."

JD took a deep breath, sparing one last glance at the chair, before the two quickly headed toward the waiting commanders.

**STARGATE COMMAND-Mid Winter 2005**

Larabee glared at the man behind the desk. They had been going back and forth for two hours. Why? Larabee had no idea. He knew he wouldn't win. He just couldn't give up without a fight.

"General, I just don't understand. Why recruit the man only to send him away? Last month you had him to come and train with us. I assumed you wanted him as a pilot. Why send him to Atlantis?"

Jack sat back in his chair, his hands across his stomach. "He's a smart one… thinks with his heart as well as his head."

"That's not always a good thing, sir."

"Ah," O'Neill's right hand came up, one finger pointing upward. "but sometimes it is."

Larabee shook his head and sighed, a smile pulling at his mouth.

"We owe him, Chris."

The blond looked down as he slumped back into the chair. "You're right, sir. We owe him. You, Jackson, the rest of that crew, you all owe him, but why send him on a one-way trip? He's been training with Travis for the past three weeks. He's beginning to fit right in with the team. We could use another pilot on your detail."

"There's only one of me. Why do we need two pilots? Travis is more than capable."

"We've been over this before, Jack," Chris said, the exasperation evident in his voice and his use of the General's given name. "With a security team of seven, you and a pilot, we could use two helicopters. Dividing the team, using two choppers, doubles the targets, we have a fifty-fifty chance of getting you out safely if there is an attack."

"There's a dozen of pilots to choose from. But a man that can adjust the situation, which is committed to his people, that's something that is hard to find. That kind of man is the kind that we need in Atlantis. Besides, who says that it's a one way trip? If we can get there once, we can get there again." Jack smiled.

'There it is.' Chris thought to himself. 'The smirk.' God, he hated that look. It said 'I'm the General, I know best, I always get my way.'

Chris shook his head. He knew he'd lost. And he didn't like it.

O'Neill's smirk turned into a full-blown 'shit-getting' grin. He knew he'd won, also.

"He'll be arriving back soon, permanently this time. I got his transfer papers from McMurdo today, so he is officially ours now. I'd appreciate it if you'd meet him…take him around the complex. Make him welcome. I have a couple of things to do before our meeting."

Larabee frowned as he looked at the commander of SGC. "You all right, sir?"

Jack smiled and nodded. "Yes, Mother. You know? You're the second person to ask me that. Do I look sick?" His hand came up to scrub at his chin.

"No, sir," Chris stated. "Just checking."

"Well, thanks for the concern." Standing, he waved his hand in the general direction of the door. "Go on. You have a Major to greet. Show him around, introduce him to the right people, and convince him that he wants to work here."

"Right, sir." Chris moved to the door and turned back, his hand on the knob. "He'll make an excellent pilot for us." He grinned at the general's raised eyebrow before turning and leaving.

It only took a few minutes for the ex-SEAL to reach the upper levels where he waited for the arrival of Major Sheppard. He only had to wait two minutes before the car arrived with the man.

Sheppard stepped out and ran a hand along the front of the heavy dress uniform, smoothing any wrinkles that dared mar the material. He turned at the sound of his name and his hand snapped up at the sight of the senior officer.

"Commander Larabee."

"At ease, Major. Welcome back to Cheyenne Mountain."

Dropping his arm, the dark haired major took the offered hand and shook it.

"Thank you, sir. Nice to see you again, Commander."

Larabee glanced over as an airman retrieved the major's flight bag and now stood waiting patiently just behind the major's shoulder. The commander nodded as Sheppard turned and took the bag, thanking the enlisted man.

Chris nodded his head at the waiting tram and the two men boarded. As they drove, Chris pointed out different areas of the upper portion of the Cheyenne Mountain base. They arrived at an elevator where the tram stopped and Larabee got off. Sheppard joined him at the guard post. After a check with the MPs stationed on either side of the doors, Larabee swiped a card through the reader and the elevator opened to admit the two men. They stepped in and Chris pushed the appropriate button and the car began its downward descent.

"So…I take it that the General has made his pitch."

John Sheppard's green eyes cut over at the older man and he considered the man for a moment. Finally glancing away, he responded. "Well… he did mention an assignment. One far away…an expedition is the word I believed he used. Nothing too specific, yet."

"Far away? That something you're interested in?"

The Major shrugged, his head tilting to one side, away from Larabee. "Well…maybe. I'm always ready for an adventure."

"Might not be any flying."

The dark head whipped around as he squeaked, "No flying?"

Chris smirked as he stared straight ahead. "Can't really say for sure. It's an…unknown aspect at the moment." His eyes cut to the side to study the man's face. Sheppard was frowning, his features pulled down in a pout of sorts. "There are other prospects within the SGC that you could explore."

Green eyes met green as the pilot turned to face the ex-SEAL.

"And those prospects would be…" John left the question hanging.

Larabee turned to face the doors, knowing they were about to reach their destination. "We could use another pilot to ferry the General around."

"Ah," was the younger man's only response, his head bobbing in acknowledgement. He opened his mouth to speak just as the car slowed to a stop with a slight bounce. The doors slid open silently and Larabee stepped off, disregarding the unvoiced question.

"The team is down this way. Thought you might like to say 'hi'."

Sheppard hastened to catch up to the blond, his head turning to take in the sights of the underground complex.

"So just how far down are we?" he finally asked. During his last visit the major was never allow access below the fifth level.

"Far enough that we don't have to worry about attacks from above."

"Cool," was the Major's response.

Moving down one corridor, Chris stopped and pushed open a door. "This will be your quarters."

The two men stepped into the room and Sheppard moved to the bed and dropped his flight bag. This room was no different than any room he had occupied since his enlistment except for the fact it was hundreds of feet underground.

Chris cleared his throat, gaining the major's attention. With a glance downward, he said, "We're not formal around here. Why don't you change into your BDU's and meet me outside?"

John nodded and the blond exited the room. Within moments, John was changed and coming out the door.

"Better?"

Moving to the right, Chris pointed out a few places to the pilot, assuring that he was familiar with the area around his quarters. They turned down a hallway and Chris stopped at the second door. Turning the knob, he stepped into the noisy room with Sheppard right behind him. The reminder of the Special Ops team was in various areas around what appeared to be a rec room. Wilmington, Sanchez and Standish were seated at the table playing a hand of poker while Tanner and Dunne were engaged in a computer game…_Halo,_ if Sheppard wasn't mistaken. Jackson was in a corner, a pile of books to one side of his chair, four more on the table beside him and two more open in his lap. On the opposite side of the table, Mary Travis sat in a matching chair, typing on a laptop. Everyone turned at the arrival of the two men.

"Well, lookee what the cat dragged in."

"Hey, Major…"

"John, where ya been…"

The men all called at out to the pilot as they stood and moved toward the new arrivals. Only the blonde female did not acknowledge the man. She had snapped the laptop closed and stood. Moving across the room as the six men greeted Sheppard, she walked past the gathering and headed for the door. Only Larabee seemed to take notice of her departure and he alone, received the scathing look that she threw in his direction before exiting the room with a loud bang. Seven pairs of eyes looked over at the noise, but quickly returned to their warm reunion.

The eight men sat around, getting reacquainted with each other. Chris shook his head at the blusterous conversation. The men acted as if they hadn't seen each other for months when in fact they had only parted company six days before when Sheppard had reported back to McMurdo.

They had been talking for about thirty minutes when Chris excused himself, saying he would be back in a few minutes. He left the room and headed to his quarters with the intention of changing before the meeting that was scheduled later with O'Neill and Hammond. He got as far as his door before being stopped by the female pilot.

"Commander Larabee, could I speak with you, sir?"

Lt. Travis' formal request alerted the man to the woman's mood and he knew what was coming.

"Mary…"

"SIR," she snapped out forcefully. "I need to speak to you."

Larabee sighed and then ushered the blonde into his room, leaving the door open behind them.

As he walked around the room, she began, "May I speak freely, Commander?"

"Of course, Mary."

The pale eyes flashed as her hands came to rest on her hips. "I have worked hard in 'this man's Army' and I resent being replaced by one the General's 'favorites'."

"Now, just hold on, Mary."

Chris held up his hands but the woman advanced on him. "NO. YOU hold on. I earned this post. I deserve this post. General O'Neill had no problems with me until we flew to the Antarctic and he spotted that…that…hotshot."

"That 'hotshot' saved both O'Neill and Jackson. The General just wants to offer him an opportunity in way of thanks."

The blonde woman threw up her hands and spun away from the man. "An opportunity? All my work to become the General's pilot just gets tossed out the window so he can thank this guy?"

"Travis, you don't even know why the man is here."

Whirling back, she advanced on the man again. "Are you telling me that he isn't here to pilot the General around?"

Larabee looked at the woman, blood coloring his face slightly. "Well, it depends on who you talk to."

Her reaction was to fold her arms under her breasts and glare at the man. Chris turned and moved away. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"O'Neill wants Sheppard to accompany the expedition to Atlantis." He turned to see Mary frown slightly at this. "I, on the other hand, want him to stay here as a second pilot."

Seeing the woman's pale eyes narrow, he quickly added, "We would use two pilots, Mary. It only makes sense that we divide the team by using two helicopters. If there was an attempt made on the General, we cut their chances in half if there are two targets."

He watched as the woman processed the information.

"He's a grade above me," she finally ground out.

Larabee sighed. "Yes, he is that."

"I was here first." When Chris did not respond, she continued, a slight whinny quality to her voice. "I have seniority."

"We don't even know which assignment he's going to accept."

The pale blue eyes flared as she fisted her hands. "He…gets…to…choose?"

The man knew he was in trouble now and played the only card he had. Drawing to his full height and squaring his shoulders, he barked, "Travis, whatever General O'Neill has offered Major Sheppard is none of your concern. You are assigned as a pilot for the SGC. You understand?"

The tone of Larabee's declaration made it evident to the woman that she was treading on thin ice with the man. Their past history had nothing to do with the present situation and she knew if she pushed too hard, that history would be a factor in the commander's response. Knowing this, she stepped back and threw up a salute.

"Yes, sir, I understand perfectly, Commander. I will not mention it again."

After her salute was returned, she quickly turned and left the room but her mind was still whirling. If the Major had a choice, then she was determined to insure that he made the correct one.

Meanwhile in Larabee's room, he slumped against the desk and shook his head. He knew that the female pilot had worked hard to get assigned to the SGC and he could understand her resentment of the new pilot, but as her commanding officer, he could not allow her to dictate to him or question orders. Pushing himself off and heading back to the closet and a change of clothes, he wondered how the woman would react if Sheppard did turn down the Atlantis expedition in favor of the SGC pilot post. It was a bridge he would worry about when he got to it. Right now, it was time for the General to pitch his proposal at the young Major.

He entered the room to find only four of the men left and they were preparing to leave.

"Hey, Chris," Vin greeted. "We were heading down to the mess to see what they're serving today. Want to join us?"

"Thanks, Vin, but I have to get Sheppard to the General's office and then I want to go down and check on that ordinance we ordered."

The young Texan moved to side next to Larabee. "Need any help?"

Dropping a friendly hand on the slender shoulder, Chris shook his head. "No, thanks, you go eat. I won't be there long. I have a meeting with O'Neill in a while. I'll meet up with you after that."

"Sounds good." Vin held out a hand. "Was good seeing you again, John. Glad to have ya around."

"Thanks, Vin."

"Yeah, John, you'll like it here. There's plenty to keep us busy," JD piped up.

"Sure is, Sheppard. Most of it is keeping the kid here out of trouble."

"HEY! What's that supposed to mean, Buck? Seems like 'you' were the one that we had to bail out last mission, not me."

"He's gotcha there, Buck. Matter of fact, you still owe us twenty bucks from the last little venture."

The big man grinned and backed toward the door, both hands held up in surrender. "Now, boys, you know payday ain't for another week and I done spent my allotment from the last pay day. Guess you'll just have to wait."

That said, that man turned and bolted down the hall with the two younger men after him. Chris turned to the smiling Major. "One thing is for sure. It's never dull around here."

"I'm beginning to see that."

"Let's get you up to O'Neill before he sends the marines out looking for you."

"Lead the way, Commander."

The two men headed back to the elevator to go up to the control room level. As they waited, Larabee felt an odd sense of unease settle over him and his head turned to survey the area. As he turned toward his right, he looked at the young man beside him and noticed for the first time the bead of sweat that had appeared on the furrowed brow.

"You alright, John?" His hand rose to grip the pilot's arm.

Sheppard's eyes darted around, scanning the vicinity for a threat, his inner warning system blaring at him. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he willed himself to calm and nodded at the question. Finally, he answered, "Sorry, sir. Don't understand that. I don't usually have a problem with tight spaces."

Grinning, he added, "Guess I'm just not used to being underground. I like the freedom of the open sky."

Seeing the worried look in the blond's green eyes, Sheppard shrugged off the steadying hand. "Not to worry, I adapt quickly."

As the doors opened and they stepped in, Chris stated, "Yeah? Well, around here, you have to."

The doors slid closed and the car whisked the two soldiers upward as, from around a corner, Dr. Malachi stepped into view, a malevolent expression marring his features.

"Well, well, all things come to those who wait." The deep laughter rumbled in the man's chest as he turned and headed back down the corridor he had just traveled up.

"So, Major, what 'cha think? You ready for a little adventure? To go boldly where no man has gone before?" General O'Neill asked the dark haired officer standing at ease in front of his desk. 'His desk', Jack still was not used to the fact that he had a desk.

Allowing the man time to consider the offer, he glanced down at the officer's file; turning a page, he studied the record of one Major John Sheppard. Leaning back in his chair, Jack closed his eyes, wondering where had he heard that name before. There was a Private David Sheppard that he washed out of the SGC last year. Jack shook his head, that Sheppard had been a six foot four, black marine. Thinking back, Jack remembered a badass Marine Colonel named Norman Sheppard he had met a little over two years ago at one of General Hammond's granddaughters' birthday party.

Glancing up, Jack noticed no similarities to the arrogant marine that Hammond had forcible removed from his house. This Sheppard was tall while the Marine Colonel had been barely five eight and must have weighed over two hundred fifty pounds. The major looked to barely weigh one fifty, if that. 'Don't they feed those flyboys in McMurdo?' O'Neill wondered.

"Let me see if I have this straight. You want me to step through a …Stargate… be transported instantly across thousands of light years to another solar system, to a planet that no one has ever been on…assuming it's still there… and explore?" Sheppard cocked one eyebrow up. "That about sum it up?"

O'Neill smiled. "Yessireeyoubet."

"Well Sir, as far as I can see…" Sheppard started but that was as far as he got before he was interrupted.

"Look Sheppard what's not to like? You get to go through a wormhole, think of it as flying, if you like. Believe me, a couple of times it felt like our butts got shot out of a canon. You'll get to meet and greet new people, shoot your firearm off a little bit, oh there be some running, screaming," Jack stood, placing his hands flat on the desk, "saving the Earth, again, may I remind you. All in all, isn't that why you signed up?"

"Begging the general's pardon, we'll won't be on Earth," said the major, rolling his eyes. "There might not be any lights or running water or indoor toilets. What about air conditioning, DVD's, dancing girls, football? There might not be anyone to fight."

"And your point?" Jack asked, raising his hands in the air, gearing up to his sarcastic self, then stopped as he took in the young man's face. The Major had a stupid, lop sided grin on his face, "Enjoyed that, did you?" At Sheppard's chuckle, Jack sighed and sat back down in his chair, asking. "Well, what's the problem, then?"

"Darn, I was hoping to learn a new reproach; heard you were the best." John said with a big smile on his face. The first smile that O'Neill had seen on the major's face since arriving at the SGC, so Jack wasn't surprise when Sheppard's lips turned downward into a frown, "Sir, I want to fly, need to fly."

Jack leaned back into the chair, his eyes looked up into Sheppard's hazel ones, "Let's be honest son. You have been reduced to taxi driver; you call that flying?"

"At least I was flying sir. If I go to this Pegasus…whatever…. I'll be grounded. I don't see a whirly-bird ready to go through the darn gate." John said frustrated, then added quickly, "Sir."

Jack rifled though the major's file and stopped at the incident record from six months ago. It seemed a lifetime ago, so much had happened since then; he wondered how he had forgotten that the young major had been part of their rescue. Only when he had seen him at McMurdo, did Sheppard's part in the rescue come to mind. Sheppard had put his career at risk and Jack couldn't even remember if he thanked the young man. Jack hadn't even asked to see the results of the court-martial, it never cross his mind to ask General Hammond what had happened to the young officer. Jack kicked himself; unknowingly, he left a man behind.

Thinking back, O'Neill realized things didn't add up; Jack narrowed his eyes, studying the airman; someone or some ones had spirited Sheppard away as soon as Larabee had asked for his transfer onto his team. Darn the blonde ex-SEAL; he had beaten Jack to the request. The general wanted Sheppard for the SGC; even thought of putting him on SG1 under Carter for training. He wasn't getting any younger, and Jack figured it was time for him to move on to the more personal side of his relationship with Sam Carter. Looking back down at the record, he wanted to read the results of the court-martial and was surprised to learn there was no trial. "Son, what happened at the court-martial?" Jack asked his eyes narrowed suspiciously. The major's head snapped up, his hazel eyes darkened.

"Why? What does it matter? It's done…over. There's nothing left to talk about," Sheppard said with a snarl. The major moved off to stare at a picture on the far side, though Jack was not sure if the man was actually seeing the image.

"Did your father…Colonel Sheppard, get you off?" Jack was guessing, and from the scowl on the major's face, he had hit the nail on the head.

"He's not my father." John Sheppard stated, his hazel eyes were dark with golden specks as they shot daggers at the general.

"John…" Before Jack could finish what he was going to say, he was interrupted by a knock on his door and a brown haired head popping around the corner.

"Hi Jack, busy?"

"Yes Daniel, go away." Jack shot back, leaning back in his chair. He threw a disgusted look at the man behind the linguist.

"Sir, I have a training flight with Lt Travis in thirty minutes, I need to go suit up." Sheppard's firm voice spoke as he stepped into view of the archaeologist.

Instantly, the hair on the back of the major's head stood on end and, glancing around, he caught a glimpse at the man standing behind Daniel. Feeling cornered, John's inner senses screamed at him to run, something dark and forbidding seemed to be stretching its tentacles toward him, turning the very air stale and hard to breath. John desperately needed to exit the room. He was barely conscious of Daniel calling his name.

"Hi, John. Well, actually Jack, the Major is why I'm here," Daniel stepped into the room, moving over to the younger soldier. Professor Malachi waited at the doorway. His predatory eyes studied the two officers, finally settling on the dark haired major as he waited for the general's permission to enter the office.

"Professor," Jack choked out. As the dark haired professor entered, the old soldier sent a worried glance toward the major and rose from his seat at the sight. John Sheppard had taken a defensive stance, his back against the wall, and his right hand clenched at his hip, where his weapon would have been had he been armed.

"John?" Jack moved around his desk, his six-sense screaming at him that the airman was in danger, but his weak knees made the general too slow and the professor beat him.

"Well, if it isn't the elusive Major Sheppard." A feral smile spread across the professor's lips at the sight of the man's pale face.

"John, I'd like to introduce you to Professor Malachi." Jackson said innocently, oblivious to the tension surrounding him. Daniel shifted to the side to make room for Malachi, blocking Jack's effort to reach the major. "Jack, we think we found the problem with the translation of the tablet, in fact it's two tablets, not one. Malachi and I want to question everyone who was at the desert complex and," turning around back to the major, "you're the last one, John."

"Daniel, you're always in a rush." The professor said, reaching out to grab the major's clenched hand, "We've already met, correct, Major? I didn't have time to personally thank you for your help in our rescue, you disappeared so quickly." Feeling John struggling to pull his hand away, Malachi tightened his grasp. Using his host's ancient knowledge, he sent a silent message to the young man, 'Submit, submit'. The boy had slipped through his fingers that first time. He was determined not to lose this second opportunity.

John's inner voice screamed, '_no! no! Succurro mihi , frater erant es vos.' _His childhood nightmare reared back to life, the little blood left drained from his face, leaving it chalky gray. Bile rose in his throat and he struggled to keep it down. Frantic, his eyes searched the room. His eyes settled on the general, briefly and then moved on when they did not find the comfort he sought. Again, his subconscious mind cried out for help.

Deep down in the SGC complex, two heads turned up as if listening to a silent plea. The first, the older of the two, rubbed his forehead at the flare of pain, hoping to make it go away. Unconsciously, he strengthened the walls around his heart, turning his back on the cry for help from a child, asking…begging…for help from a brother.

The other, younger man, dark haired and full of youthful innocence, heard the cry as an echo of pain, so reminiscence of his own that he instantly stopped what he was doing and, tilting his head, he waited. He heard nothing else but still the urgent plea echoed in his mind. Silently he left the room; his two companions giving each other a questioning look before going back to their meal.

"Daniel, move." Jack shoved the archaeologist against the professor, forcing Malachi to lose his grip on the major.

John, seeing his opportunity, made a dash to the safety of the door and ran smack into the other pilot as she moved down the hall.

"Major, I've been looking for you." Mary Travis stated as she stood at attention before the commanding officer. She was dismayed at the Major's appearance; the man looked like he was in shock. "We have a training session scheduled."

"Right, thank you, Lieutenant Travis." Sheppard choked out. He turned and asked permission to leave with a single word, "Sir?" Hazel eyes begged the general to release him.

"Major, we're not done talking." Jack stated, concern lacing his voice. That concern only deepened when the airman shook his head. "Travis, see Major Sheppard down to the infirmary; have the doc check him out. I'll call the down to Commander Larabee and inform him about the delay." Seeing the rebellion the major's stance, the general added, "That's an order, Major."

"Yes, Sir," Major Sheppard responded, shoulders slumped in defeat as he turned from the doorway, followed closely behind by Mary Travis.

"Well…that was strange." Daniel said.

"I do hope the major will be all right," Malachi sneered.

Jack's eyes stared after the retreating back of the major. Losing sight of him as the major went down the steps of the control room O'Neil addressed the two linguists. "So, what was so important about this tablet that you had to interrupt me, Daniel?" His tone betrayed his frustration.

Three of O'Neill's security team sat in the commissary enjoying a late evening snack. As Vin and JD washed down their chocolate cake with milk, Buck regaled the younger men with stories as he consumed apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a cup of coffee.

JD's fork paused halfway to his mouth as Wilmington described an encounter with a woman he claimed to have met while in Spain. The youngest team member turned his shocked gaze from the team's mustached rouge to the sharpshooter, the question unspoken, but the hazel eyes begging confirmation.

Tanner chuckled at the open-mouthed expression of the ex-Delta's face. Thinking to himself that Dunne had a lot to learn about 'embellishing' a story, a thing that Buck Wilmington was a pro at, Vin cocked his head to one side and declared, "Buck, I don't think that's possible, even if you was a cont..controt…hell, you'd have a be a damn pretzel."

JD's head bobbed up and down in agreement. "Yeah, Buck, nobody is that limber."

Buck threw back his head and laughed. "Hell, boys, a man can do anything with the right instinctive," he informed them.

Vin gave the big man a disbelieving gaze while Dunne stated, "Ahh, Buck, you're so full of shit."

JD turned his attention back to his loaded fork, but mumbled out around the cake, "If Doc had to give ya a enema, you'd totally disappear."

"Hey! I resent that," Wilmington protested as Vin fought to not choke on the chunk of chocolate cake he had just poked into his mouth.

Buck's hand had just come up to swap the dark hair of Dunne when the youth suddenly froze, his head cocked to one side and a frown pulling at his features. Tanner and Wilmington watched as the younger man slowly stood and walked off without a word.

Eyebrows up in surprise, Buck turned to Tanner. "That was odd. Wonder what got into the boy?"

Jaw muscles flexed as Vin watched the slight figure go through the door, glancing both directions before heading off to the right. He shrugged in response and turned his attention back just as Buck reached for the abandoned plate. Whip fast, the Texan's hand snaked out and snagged the plate and its contents.

"Hey!"

"Wouldn't want to risk losing that 'manly' form to a thick waist now would ya? 'Sides, Doc is always telling me to eat more," Vin mumbled around a mouthful of cake.

Sipping at his coffee, Buck glared at the slender man. "I don't think chocolate cake is what he was talking about."

Tanner just grinned and shoveled in another piece of cake.

As soon as John made it into the corridor outside the control room, he slumped against the wall for support. He struggled to control the trembling of his body. He wanted to shrink and disappear into the wall, the urge to hide strong within him, when a voice drew him back.

"Major Sheppard, are you all right, should I call a corpsman?"

"No, I'm fine." John straightened his shoulders and pushed away from the wall. Placing one foot in front of the other, he moved away from the darkness that threatened to overtake him.

"You don't look 'fine', Major Sheppard. In fact, you look like you're about to faint," she paused, and sarcastically added, "dead away…like a girl," Mary's cold voice echoed down the corridor.

"Go away, Lieutenant." John stated slowly as he turned hazel eyes on her, barely suppressed anger burning within their depths.

Mary gasped, for an instant she saw the fleeting glimpse of pain and terror in the major's eyes before they turned blank, devoid of emotion. "Sir?"

"Travis, you really need to be someplace else before I put you on report." The major's voice was now dull and lifeless.

Mary stood at attention, "Sir. Yes. Sir." Turning, she marched pass the unwell soldier, straight toward the infirmary to talk with Doctor Frasier. She could feel Sheppard's eyes follow her down the corridor.

As soon as Mary was out of sight, John turned and slowly headed in the opposite direction. Blindly, he moved down the halls, wandering about in a daze until he found himself in front of the door to his quarters. He turned the knob and entered the small, nondescript gray room. Allowing his eyes to glance around, he took in the meager contents and shuddered. He would only been on base a short time, but no matter, the room would remain sparse with no personal items around to alleviate the starkness. There were no photos, no plaques, nothing to mark a life outside of the military. His gaze moved to the locker sitting to one side and his pulse quickened. Striding quickly across the expanse, he knelt and unlocked the box to reach in and grasp the object that beckoned. The weight felt good in his hand and the evil seemed to recede for the moment.

The respite didn't last long. Within moments, the niggling sensation was once again tickling at the back of his mind, an itch he couldn't scratch. He began to pace in an attempt to divert his mind. The effort was wasted and soon the dark haired major was driven from his quarters and seeking to escape the feeling, he sought seclusion in hopes of finding a release from the darkness that scraped along his nerves.

Hugging the walls for support, he made his way toward the elevator that would take him down, deeper into the complex, somewhere where he could be alone and away from the darkness that was trying to envelope him.

Blinded with panic, the major stepped into the elevator as soon as the doors opened, blocking the path of the occupant. His arm arced out and his fist slammed against the control panel. As the doors slid closed behind him, a concerned voice filtered into his beleaguered mind.

"John?"

"Uncle?" John opened panic-stricken eyes to see the older man standing in front of him, a concerned look on his face.

"John, what are you doing here?"

"Uncle George, help me."

General Hammond barely had time to react before his nephew's eyes rolled up and the young man descended into darkness.

Grabbing the young man as he collapsed, Hammond blindly slapped at the control panel and the metal box jerked to a stop. The older man grappled for a hold as John's boneless form seemed to slip through his fingers. Both men ended up on the ground as the general followed his nephew down. Cradling the pilot's head on his thigh, Hammond reached up to punch the emergency button.

"N…nooo…no…" A unsteady hand reached out and clasped his outstretched arm.

"John?" George looked down into the shuttered eyes of Sheppard. "You okay, son? What happened?"

The slender man went to push upright, but a hand on his chest stilled the motion. "You just stay right there until I get some help down here."

Sheppard shook his head slowly and, after patting the restraining hand, he gently pushed it away. Breathing deep, he sat with his eyes closed for several moments. What was he going to tell the man? There was no way he could tell his uncle that he had freaked at the mere touch of one Professor Malachi? It felt as if every nerve in his body had gone into overdrive, each one charged with electricity, making him ill in the process. Feeling a light touch on his arm, he opened his eyes and gamely smiled at the older man. "Sorry, uncle, I'm okay, now."

"I'd be more inclined to believe that statement if you weren't the color of the walls, son."

John looked at the gray interior of the elevator and huffed a laugh at the comparison. "Oh, just go ahead and bury me, then."

Seeing that his uncle didn't appreciate the humor, he clapped a hand on the broad shoulder of George Hammond and pushed up. The older man lumbered to his feet, also, a steadying grip on Sheppard's arm.

"John, what's going on, son?"

His face flushed as he responded. "Ah, Uncle George, this is so embarrassing."

Hammond crossed his arms over his ample chest and waited.

Sheppard's hand came up to run through the unruly hair before waving around in explanation. "I've been really nervous about this assignment. I know, I know. I've been working with the team and all, but that's not exactly the same as being offered a position like General O'Neill just offered me."

He had dropped his head to stare at the floor as he spoke and now he glanced up to see if his uncle was buying into his story. The look of doubt had his mind searching for another reason for his collapse. "I wasn't sure what the general wanted and got to worrying about maybe I was in some kind of trouble again." John dropped his eyes back to the floor, "you know as well as I do, the troubles I've had with certain military institutions and the more I thought about it, the more nervous I got and then I just stopped eating because it was making me sick and then when he offered this 'Atlantis' thing to me…." He glanced up again and knew he was convincing his uncle with the fabricated story, so he quickly decided to not push his luck. "…anyway, I just left the General's office and I started to feel a little…strange…and…well, that's when I ran into you. I guess I need to go eat something."

Hammond didn't move for several moments as he eyed the younger man, weighing the words, deciding whether or not to believe them. Finally, he sighed and dropped his arms. "You sure that's it?"

John opted to simply nod in response.

"Okay, I'll go with you to the cafeteria…"

"No, Uncle George, you…" Seeing the look on the older man's face, he quickly changed his tactics. "I'm supposed to meet Buck and JD in the mess…" He looked at his wrist. "Actually, I'm late. And I know you have a meeting with the General…"

Sheppard threw up his hands. "Honest, Uncle George, I haven't eaten in a couple of days. I know better, but I've just been so jumpy about O'Neill."

Hammond studied the man with a knowing eye, but understanding how edgy John could get with anyone in authority, the man nodded, accepting the explanation. He reached over and hit the button that would take him to the level that housed O'Neill's office. As the elevator opened, Hammond paused in the doorway and turned back. "John, are you sure you're all right?"

Smiling, the younger man saluted though it was a relaxed gesture. "Sir, yes, sir, I'm fine."

Rolling his eyes, Hammond stepped back, away from the doors. As they slid closed, he heard the younger man's voice, saying, "Thanks, Uncle George." George paused at the words, an odd feeling of unease coursing through him. He made a mental note to search out the pilot as soon as the meeting was convened.

In the elevator, Sheppard randomly punched a button and when the doors parted, he staggered out, moving down the hall as if drawn. Seeing no one, he simply continued on until he came to the open door of the gateroom. Curious, he entered, staring at the huge ring at the back of the room. Slowly, he crossed the room and approached the Stargate. His hand reached out and he cocked his head slightly, mesmerized by the dim red glow.

"Sweet."


	4. Chapter 4

Mary Travis was heading towards the embarkation room. Her checks were still rosy from the second heated encounter with Commander Larabee. Once again she had been demoted to the second seat. It didn't matter what Larabee said. If Sheppard joined the team, she would be under his command. He would more than likely be flying the general and Larabee, while she flew the rest of the team in a second chopper. Damn Larabee, anyway. O'Neill didn't want a second pilot. Scuttlebutt was he wanted the major for the Atlantis crew. Why couldn't Chris just accept that and leave well enough alone. Damn him. Damn him and Sheppard.

Fact was, she didn't know who she was more frustrated with-the commander or the new pilot, Major John Sheppard. The man was an enigma. He was friendly enough while they were training in McMurdo, laughing, horsing around with the more exuberant members of Larabee's little group. However he never initiated any of the playfulness only reacted to the others, her self-included. Not once had the dark haired Major joined their group outside of mandatory training sessions in the month of intense training they had gone through before his official transfer to SGC and the Cheyenne base.

The man was loner, and Mary had to admit, she had not been on her best behavior; she had been rude during their last training session especially after the enthusiastic response Chris had to the major's simulation scores. Being downright malicious, she had given him the hardest simulation to perform in front of the Chris Larabee, the man the Major was so obviously trying to impress. Mary suspected the Sheppard knew what she had done, and without a backward glance he just shrugged his shoulders and climbed into the simulator.

She was jealous, plain and simple. The man could fly. It was like he became part of the aircraft, and everything else just blurred away. The mysterious Major had walked away with the highest simulation score that she ever seen for a helicopter pilot. He deserved the position with the team. She was embarrassed at his lack of response to her actions; her behavior was uncalled for and she tried to make up for it and was the first one to congratulate him after he climbed out of the simulator's cockpit.

However, the dark haired major had only shrugged his shoulders and with a soft reply said 'thank you' before hastily heading out of the room amid the congratulations of the rest of the team. She shook her head as she stared after the pilot's retreating back. From the major's body language, bowed head and hands shoved in his pant pockets, the man was shy and not used to compliments. No, that couldn't be it. He was an excellent pilot and he was aware of his natural skills. Word was the man was downright cocky most of the time; friendly, fun, relaxed, but cocky nonetheless. Mary doubted there was a shy bone in his body. No, it was something else.

Startled, Mary realized Sheppard had been acting this way since O'Neill order his transfer from McMurdo to the SGC for a month of training. Chris and her had picked him up at the airfield and they had driven back to Cheyenne Mountain to meet with O'Neill. Thinking back, she tried to remember that first day. It hit her hard like a ton of bricks, just over an hour ago she had witness the same look on Sheppard's face. It took her moment to recall the details as she pictured the scene in her mind. John Sheppard standing cagily just behind O'Neil as the General had introduced him to Daniel Jackson's coworker Professor Malachi that had join them during lunch. Thinking back, Mary could now remember watching his body go rigid, his face had turned a chalky gray as he shook the Professor's hand. It was only moments after that, Sheppard asked the General to be excused.

Mary had dismissed the incident, but now she thought back to the man she first met. Gone was the arrogant, cocky flyboy she had encounter at the outpost after ferrying Larabee and the team out. Replacing him was a cautious, wary man that only seemed to relax when the team surrounded him. If Larabee was not around, Sheppard often secreted himself away until the next training session. Something wasn't right, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

After the rebuff of Sheppard, his countermanding O'Neill's orders and flat refusal to go the infirmary, indignation had goaded her into once again confronting Larabee. She spent the last hour standing at attention in front of a very angry Commander Larabee getting her ass chewed out. Between Larabee's yelling and dark glare, that withered the strongest, most seasoned soldier, Mary had made out that the Major had been offered an alternate position with the Atlantis expedition and therefore might not even accept the pilot posting that Larabee so badly wanted him to take. Why the man had such a hard on for the pilot to be on his team was beyond her comprehension. All she knew for such was that she had once again jumped from the frying pan into the fire where Major John Sheppard was concerned. The Commander had in no uncertain terms informed her that she would work with the personnel that he assigned to his team or she could request, and be granted, a transfer to a more suitable unit, one that didn't threaten her personally.

Being dismissed by Larabee, Mary was now on a mission. She had visited the infirmary on the pretense that she was checking up on Nathan to see if he needed help. Next she hit the mess hall and chatted with Buck, and Vin while they stuffed the their faces with apple pie and cake. She casually mentioned that she was looking for Sheppard when a young airman at the next table mentioned that he had seen the Major near the gate room.

It didn't take long for Mary to reach the gate room. Her mind was running through all the things that she could say to convince the young man to stay. She had even gone through the major's records. The parts that were not classified for 'eyes only' portrayed the young man as any ordinary pilot. But it was what she read between the lines that told her that the Major was much…much more.

She finally found him standing at the top of the ramp, staring wide eye up at the gate. He looked like a small boy; his head snapping around at the sound of her chuckle, his eyes wide and full of wonder. It was the first time she had actually seen a twinkle of delight in his hazel eyes. But it didn't last long as the light in his eyes dimmed and he shrugged his shoulders with his hands instantly going into his front pockets. His head dropped toward his chest, giving him the appearance of a little lost puppy about to be scolded.

"Is it not beautiful," Mary stated, as she leisurely strolled up the ramp to stand behind the major even as he turned around to once again stare up at the Stargate in awe. "I spent hours studying the hieroglyphics on the gate." She watched as the major ran his hand over the symbols. "I'm a closet, amateur archaeologist. I love everything Egyptian and even spent some time studying at the British Museum." Travis stood at attention, taking a deep breath and said, "Sir, I would like to apologize for my earlier behavior. I lost sight of my duty, sir. It wont happen again."

Sheppard glanced over and tilted his head giving her a lop sided grin, "apology accepted Lieutenant." His eyes harden, his voice void of emotions, "A word of warning Travis, never let your emotions cloud your judgment. You're a good pilot and I would be honored to fly as your wingman."

"Thank you Sir." Mary said softly. Both turned back to study the gate, it was an uneasy moment; the major was first to break the silence.

"Have you ever gone through the gate…to another world?" The major asked in his soft-spoken voice.

"No, so far we've only been assigned to security for General O'Neill and he hasn't gone off world since his promotion," Mary answered, thankful for the turn of events. "Everyone on the team, except Larabee of course, is hoping that will change. The boys are just itching to go off world."

"Commander Larabee hasn't gone off world?" Sheppard turned his head, studying the woman's face.

"I'm not aware of any missions where Larabee has gone off-world. Would that matter?" Mary paused, watching as the major faced the gate once again. "Are you thinking of turning down the position with his team?" Remembering what she had read in the major's file about his habit of disregarding orders and charges of insubordination, she added, "Is it a trust or a leadership problem you have with the Commander?"

"I have no problem with Larabee. I respect him. I think he's a good leader," Sheppard shyly answered back. Absently, he ran his fingers across one of the chevrons on the gate.

Mary grabbed his arm to turn him around to face her, "Then why are you thinking about turning down the position?" She failed to notice the dim red glow of the chevron as her motion pulled Sheppard's hand away from the gate surface.

"I…I… You want that position, so it yours now." Sheppard ducked his dark covered head.

Mary blinked; she couldn't believe what she was hearing or what her eyes were telling her. Standing in front of her was an Air Force major acting like a four-year-old. "I thought you said you forgave me. You do forgive me right?" she waited until he turned his attention back to her and nodded. "Major, do you want a position on the team?" Again, patiently, she waited for the slow nod of yes, "Then accept the position. Commander Larabee wants you on his team. I want you on the team; I would feel honored to be your co-pilot." When the major didn't answer, Mary added, "The Commander is a hard man and has high expectations," her voice went softer, "which, by the way, you passed with flying colors."

"I know, but," John forlornly added, "Dr. Weir and General O'Neill have asked me to join the expedition to the Pegasus system under Colonel Summers."

"Why?"

"Because of this," John ran his fingers over the closest Chevron. Instantly, it glowed with a dim red light. "They want the ancient gene… not me, the pilot."

"So? Don't go, stay and join our team," Mary told him. Finally, it dawned on her that she was seeing, "John, do that again."

"What? This?" John placed the palm of his hand on the gate, and another Chevron engaged.

"That's not supposed to happen," Mary nervously glanced up at the control room. No one seemed to notice the gate activation.

"OH…" Instantly John jerked his hand away from the gate. "I thought everyone with the gene could do that." The Major's eyes started dancing around the gate room, his senses were screaming out, 'danger'.

"No, it takes the computer to engage the chevrons." Mary started to pick up on the major's nervousness and glanced around the room. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not…" Sheppard stopped speaking mid-sentence. 'Threat', screamed through every pore of his body, something dark and menacing was hovering around the corner. The threat spiked at the same time John instinctively pushed Mary Travis away from his body with one hand as the other one reached for his side arm.

The blonde pilot heard two distinctive sounds as she staggered back. The first was a bullet exploding from a barrel and the other was the thud of something impacting flesh. The sounds registered even as she tumbled down the ramp, landing face down on the floor but she was too stunned to realize their implications. Instead, anger flared within her.

"What's the hell is your problem?" Mary angrily yelled as she rolled over to sit up. Raising her head, the sight that greeted her froze her in mid-rant. John Sheppard was slowly dropping to his knees, a dark red stain spreading from a spot on the upper part of his right shoulder. Mary struggled to her knees only to sit back as a shadow fell over her.

"Stay down, my dear, or I will be forced to shoot you." A deep voice spoke from behind the blonde. "Do…not…move," the voice repeated as Mary attempted once more to get to her feet. She knew she had to go check on Sheppard. She glanced around the gate room for help only to notice the heavy metal blast doors were still open. Nervously, her eyes went to the control room window, praying that help was on its way.

"Please, let me go help the major," the woman pleaded.

"No." The shadow turned into a body that moved to stand between the downed major and the woman. Turning, Malachi glanced over his shoulder to make sure the young man was down and could not cause him any problems while he dealt with the blonde pilot. Dark eyes fell on Mary, "What am I to do with you, now?"

"You're going to let me go help the major, Professor Malachi," stated Mary, her eyes watching the kneeling form at the base of the gate.

"No. I do not believe so. Stand up." The Professor waved his gun in her direction. Malachi turned his back on her and took a step toward the soldier he had shot.

Mary took a step back, toward the crash doors, the moment the Professor took his eyes off her. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Sheppard's fingers twitching around the trigger of the pistol in his hand. "Professor, you're ill. Why don't you come down to the infirmary with me?" Her voice was soft, pleading, as she tried to distract the man away from the major.

"No, my dear, I've never felt better in my life." Turning back around, the dark-haired Professor reached out and grabbed Mary's arm, pulling her forward and crushing her against his chest.

Sheppard had landed on his knees, in a kneeling position, close to the edge. Now he moved back against the gate, as far away from the menacing voice from his childhood nightmares, as he could manage. His fingers twitched and he struggled to tighten his grip on his pistol. He could feel the blood trickling down his arm; could feel the warmth as the dark stain grew on the front of his uniform. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He watched as the professor removed the gun from Travis' head and turned her to face up the ramp.

"That's it boy, open your eyes." The Professor laughed, a hideous, resonating sound, standing with the struggling blonde in front of him. "I want you to see this." His hand rose and he pointed the gun. The shot reverberated as sparks flew. Smoke rose from the keypad as the heavy blast doors slammed closed.

John caught a glimpse of movement behind the couple just as the man began to bring his pistol back around to the woman's head. Sheppard's waning attention was drawn back to the two people at the end of the ramp and he brought his own pistol up. But he was too late.

Two cries of "NO" echoed around the room, closely followed by the sound of shots ringing out.

Malachi retrained his weapon to once again take aim on Sheppard. He squeezed the trigger just as a hard blow hit him in the back. Releasing his grip on the woman, the professor staggered to the edge of the ramp and fell to his knees.

Mary spun around to see the man stumble and fall. Her eyes moved from the downed man to the doorway to see JD limping toward her. "JD?"

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

Mary's hands came up to rub her arms. Noticing the quake in both hands, she ended up wrapping her hands around her ribcage in a self hug.

JD kicked the gun away from the lax hand of the professor and then moved around the ramp to where Sheppard lay in a heap. He didn't know what had drawn him to the gateroom. Thinking he had heard the muffled sound of a shot, he had pulled his weapon and started down the corridor.

He entered the gate room to see Mary Travis being held by Professor Malachi as John Sheppard knelt on the ramp in front of the Stargate, bleeding. JD remembered flinching as Malachi suddenly fired a shot into the blast door control panel, shorting the mechanism and causing the doors to slam closed. Seeing the man aim and fire, hitting the pilot with his shot, Dunne raised his hand and fired at the man's exposed back. A brief moment of grief and disgust at the act washed over him, but it passed quickly as he saw John topple over the edge of the ramp.

Only when he started to step forward, did he realize that one of the shots fired had struck him in the leg. Glancing down, he saw the hole in his pants but knew it was not too bad. Major Sheppard and Mary Travis needed his help now so he moved across the room. Disarming the professor, he glanced at Travis before continuing on to help the injured major.

He didn't see as Malachi raised his head to stare at the downed pilot, his eyes glowed brightly as his mouth opened. The snake eyed his next host, judging the distance between them and launched his serpentine body toward his goal.

Mary shuddered as she stared at the pool of blood spreading out from Malachi's body. Pinching her lips together tightly, she swiped at the tears trailing down her cheeks and turned to see JD squatting down next to Sheppard's body. A small cry escaped her lips at the sight and she stepped toward the two men. A gasp of surprise was forced from her as something impacted the back of her neck. There was a burst of pain that froze her in place momentarily. It passed quickly though and her head dropped forward, swaying slightly.

When her head came back up, her gaze fell on the two men and a sneer pulled at her lip. Striding confidently forward, she reached down and pulled Dunne to his feet, turning him to face her.

JD paled at the glowing eyes that looked on him with complete indifference. When the woman spoke, the voice was deep and vibrated with an alien quality that the youth immediately recognized as Goa'uld. Even as he opened his mouth to question the creature, a once delicate hand tightened around his throat and squeezed. His question became a squeaked, 'Mary'. He found himself whirled around to face the control room window as the woman held his body close against her chest, her hand tangled in his hair. Her mouth pressed against his ear as she spoke,

"I shall not be thwarted. I shall have the infant, if I have to kill you and the rest of your 'team', so be it." She chuckled, though it was a humorless sound. The Goa'uld's eyes briefly flash triumphantly, when the young man in her grasp shuddered. "We shall leave, the three of us. Tell your friends to open the gate. Now."

She tightened the grip around Dunne's throat. "Or die."

Jack sat behind the desk, waiting. Thor had 'asked' for a meeting and O'Neill had agreed, scoffing at the idea that he had actually had a choice in the matter. The little gray guy had a way of just appearing, with or without, permission. That fact that he had 'requested' this meeting, requesting that Daniel, Hammond and Larabee also be present, was significant. So, Jack waited, his fingers drumming an unsteady beat on the desktop.

He rubbed his hand across his mouth, the irritating burning getting worse. Swallowing, he stood and crossed the room to pour another cup of coffee. It was his sixth or seventh cup so far and it was only one in the afternoon. Maybe it was the coffee causing his stomach to pitch such a fit. Thank the gods for a private restroom. Once this meeting with Thor was over Jack made a mental note to go see the doc. Even as he thought that, his insides rumbled again, threatening to force him to the private toilet once more.

The man jumped at the sudden ringing of his phone. 'Definitely time to switch to decaf' he thought as he crossed to the desk and reached for the insistent instrument.

"O'Neill."

"General? Chris Larabee. My apologizes, sir, but I'll be a couple of minutes late to the meeting. A slight hitch down here."

"Anything I need to know about?" Jack bent over the desk with a grunt as his muscles tightened in a spasm.

"_Everything alright, General?"_

"I'm fine. So, what's this 'hitch'? Anything you can't handle quickly?"

"No, sir, I don't believe so. Just a miscommunication with the supply corp."

"Right. Well, don't tarry, Commander. We don't want to keep our guests waiting."

A knock on the door drew the man's attention just as he replaced the handset in the cradle. 'Damn', O'Neill thought as he glanced longingly at the door to the latrine.

"COME" he called out.

Glancing back, he relaxed slightly, a genuine smile coming to his face. "General." Jack moved around the desk and extended his hand to the balding man.

"General."

Both men laughed. Hammond took the offered hand and shook it, holding it just a moment before releasing, a sign of the friendship the two men shared. Frowning, the older man asked, "You feeling okay, Jack?"

Shaking his head, O'Neill waved the question off.

"Fine, just a little stomach problem. So, what 'cha ya think?" Jack's arms spread out to indicate the room. "How's the old office look?"

Taking a moment longer to study the hunched form of his ex-second in command, George Hammond's eyes turned away and took in the room that had been his for eight years and cocked his head. "Actually…it looks much the same."

"Exactly" Jack beamed.

"Jack, don't you have anything you want to bring in? To display?"

O'Neill glanced around, frowning. His hand came up to rub his abdomen as he thought. Finally, he said, "Well, there is that bass I had stuffed…" He glanced around again before shaking his head. "Nuh, I like that where it is. Nope, think I'll just leave it the way it is."

Before the older man could comment, there was a knock on the door and it opened to admit a puffing Daniel Jackson.

"Sorry. I lost track of the time."

The younger man closed the door and moved toward the two soldiers. A frown creased the younger man's face as he approached. "Jack, you feeling okay? You look…"

"I'm fine, Daniel." Jack started, but stopped to hold up a finger before darting from the room. Jackson and Hammond looked at each other, questioningly.

The two men talked quietly as they waited. A few minutes later, Jack exited the private toilet, an embarrassed and contrite expression on the rugged, yet now pale features. "Sorry about that. Must have eaten something that didn't agree with me."

"Jack, perhaps you should go the infirmary."

"Thank you, mother." The sarcastic remark was diminished by the soft tone of the man's voice. Seeing both men frowning as him, O'Neill continued, "I will…was planning to…just as soon as this meeting is over."

The two men watched him for a moment before nodding slightly. The very fact that the man was considering visiting the infirmary was a sure sign that he was feeling worse than he was letting on.

"So…where were we?" Jack asked.

"Oh…well…" Daniel said, his eyes wide, "I was apologizing for being late. Malachi and I were talking about the tablet, but he had to leave and then I headed to my office, but then I remembered that I was supposed…"

Jack held up a hand to stay the explanation. "No problem, Danny. Seems our guests are running late, too."

Just as he spoke, the air shifted slightly and Thor appeared across the room from the trio. At his side stood a stunning woman, tall and slender with flowing black hair and fair skin. She was wearing a white gown from which a faint glow cast a halo around the regal form causing the three men to pause in their greeting.

"O'Neill." Thor's soft voice broke the reverie.

"Thor" O'Neill responded. "So, who's your friend?"

"General Hammond, Doctor Jackson." Thor greeted with both men acknowledging the diminutive alien by nodding slightly. The gray form swiveled back to face Jack. "O'Neill, are you ill? You have a decidedly unwell pallor."

"I'm fine," he said forcefully, his hands waving around for emphasis. His words were belied by the slightly stooped stance though.

With a small incline of the overly-large head, Thor inquired, "What of Commander Larabee?"

Jack raised one eyebrow as he jammed his fists into his pockets. "He's running late. So… who's your friend?"

The woman spoke this time, her voice soft but firm and full of authority. "Was this Larabee not aware of the time of our conference?"

Smirking in true 'Jack O'Neill' form, the man retorted. "Yes, Larabee was aware of the time, but he has many duties, some of which are more urgent than a command appearance of an undisclosed subject." Turning once again to Thor, O'Neill asked a third time, "So…who's your friend?"

Jack heard Daniel sigh heavily as Hammond stepped forward. "Perhaps we could make ourselves more comfortable…"

He was cutoff as the woman crossed the room haughtily causing the three men to flinch though none of them stepped back.

"I am _Dux of Antiquitas_ and I have come for my son."

Jack and Daniel each cocked an eyebrow while Hammond frowned. All three men stood, blinking in confusion at the woman in the middle of the room. No one moved for several moments.

Finally, Jack pulled his hands from his pockets and stepped forward. "And why do you think we have your son?"

Before the woman could answer, a light knock preceded the door opening and Chris Larabee striding confidently into the room. Closing the door, he turned to O'Neill and drew to attention, though he did not salute. "General. Sorry for the delay. It was unavoidable."

"Danaus?" The whispered word drew everyone's attention to the woman as she slowly crossed to the room to stand in front of a puzzled Chris Larabee.

"Son of my son. I am Valeria, mother of Danaus."

Green eyes narrowed as the man stared at the woman and then he glanced over at the general, a question in his eyes. He hadn't realized at first that the woman's mouth was not moving, that the words were spoken in his mind until she spoke again.

"Speak to me, child. I command you to acknowledge."

Chris frowned as once again he heard the voice in his head. "Lady, I don't take orders from you."

The comment drew puzzled looks from the three other men as they wondered what 'orders' Larabee was referring to.

"Speak to me from the heart, child of my child."

"Lady," Chris growled. "I don't know you. And you sure as hell aren't my grandmother."

"Valeria" Thor called softly. "We must explain. They do not know."

Without turning, the woman nodded at the words. Her hand rose and hovered near Chris' cheek momentarily before she withdrew to take her place next to Thor again.

Larabee moved to a position at the side of Jack O'Neill, his eyes watching the woman as she watched him. Standing between the two Generals, green eyes cut over to the base commander. "Sir, are you feeling alright?"

O'Neill made a grunting noise of irritation but said nothing. The droning voice of the alien finally pulled the Special Ops team leader's attention away from the man.

"Centuries ago, in a different galaxy, there was a war and the inhabitants were forced to flee a great city before it was submerged beneath the ocean.

"Atlantis" Daniel interjected, drawing everyone's attention. His blue eyes sparkled behind the wire-rimmed glasses that his hand rose to adjust. "The people of Atlantis fled to Earth…from a great adversary..."

Valeria took a step forward. "You know of Atlantis? How?"

Looking slightly nervous, the linguist stammered, "Well…I read… on a tablet. We found a tablet…in the desert. We...ah..."

The woman stepped back and looked down at Thor. "None of the People would have revealed that information" she stated. Turning, she asked, "Where is this tablet?"

A gray hand waved slowly, cutting the woman off. She huffed in agitation, continuing to face the four men.

Thor continued. "You are correct, Doctor Jackson. The people fled Atlantis and came to Earth by using the Stargate. The first two people to leave Atlantis were the twins, Valeria and her brother."

The four men turned to look at the woman even as Thor continued his story.

"They would have chosen to stayed behind to destroy Atlantis and prevent this adversary from obtaining the knowledge it housed and the gate within, and therefore, all galaxies that the Stargate could reach. Unfortunately, it was at this time Valeria discovered the deception of her brother…the evil that controlled him. The brother, while on a scouting mission on Earth, had been possessed by a Goa'uld. It was revealed to Valeria that the Goa'uld wanted her unborn child as a host. And she was forced to flee into the gate with her brother in pursuit. But there was a miscalculation. As the twins gated from their home, there was an power surge and we believe that an energy pulse overloaded the gate, throwing the twins through time yet still to Earth."

The gray being looked at the men and blinked slowly, noting the strained features of Jack O'Neill, but refrained from commenting. Seeing the interest of all the men, he continued his story. "We surmised that the impulse caused a fluctuation in the gate, separating the twins, we were wrong. The twin arrived together, locked in battle, in the wrong time and place. The stress of the trip had a physical effect on her body. Upon her arrival, after defeating the Goa'uld, she delivered a premature baby boy but the birth took a great toll on her. She was dying. Fearing that the brother would awaken, she hid the child."

Thor paused as the woman turned away with a faint sob. Allowing her privacy to collect her self, the small being finished the narrative. "It is at this point I became aware of the _Dux's _plight. Not knowing of the baby, I took Valeria to my ship and put her in stasis to permit her body time to heal itself."

"But why have you come to us?" Daniel questioned. "We don't have a baby here. The gate is guarded at all times. No one has come through it."

Thor's small hands waved slowly. "This gate is not the gate that Valeria and her brother arrived through. They did not arrive in this time. While the people arrived centuries ago, the twins' journey ended here some thirty-five years ago."

A sharp intake of breath drew Daniel, Chris and Jack's attention.

"No, it can't be," George Hammond denied.

With an incline of his head, Thor confirmed the man's fears. "The baby was left behind but found and rescued by a young Lieutenant…who took the child to a barren sister to raise as her own."

Hammond's face blanched and then reddened as the truth came out. He bowed his head and took a deep breath before speaking. Looking at the men around him, the General completed the story.

"I found the boy a few days after SG-1 used the Stargate in 1969. The government had the gate moved to Cheyenne Mountain, for a period of time. I don't know what I thought…about where the child had come from…only that he was alone…I was there."

He paused for a moment, running his hand over his lip in apprehension. "My sister and her husband had been trying to have a baby for years. I remember thinking that the boy was a God-sent, a sign. I bundled him up, took some leave and headed to my sister's. She raised the boy as her own."

The room was silent for a few moments as the implications were absorbed by the people within. Finally, O'Neill broke the silence. His voice was raspy and slightly strained sounding as he looked at the woman, "Okay, so the General's sister raised your son. That still doesn't explain what you want from us. We don't have him."

The sound of a throat being cleared drew Jack's attention. Turning, he saw the flushed face of Hammond and his eyebrows rose. "What?"

"Actually, we do have him, Jack. My sister was married to Colonel Norman Sheppard…Major John Sheppard is my nephew."

The reactions of the three men were varied. Jack O'Neill's mouth opened and closed as he sought words to express. Daniel Jackson brought his hands up and crossed them over his chest as if trying to hold himself together. Chris Larabee's frown deepened as his anger grew.

Finally, the spell was broken as Jack stated, "Sheppard is from Atlantis."

"Yes. And I want my son now."

Daniel looked at Jack and asked, "Do you suppose that has anything to do with his reaction to Malachi?"

"WHAT?" the woman demanded. "What name did you just say?"

Daniel took an involuntary step back as the woman advanced on him, her eyes boring into the man.

O'Neill placed himself in front the woman's charge, his hand held out to stop her, a hand that shook slightly, the tremors apparent to everyone in the room. "Now, now, kids, let's play nice."

As the woman composed herself, Jack asked, "So…what's Malachi have to do with this?"

Drawing up her full height, Valeria whispered, "Malachi is my brother."

Daniel's eyebrows drew together in concentration. "He can't be the same man. Doctor Malachi is in his thirties, maybe early forties, but no older. I mean…you're talking about a man that came through the gate thirty-five years ago. I know you've been in stasis, but not him…"

"Lantians do not age as humans do."

Larabee had moved to stand at Jack's shoulder, a hand resting on his sidearm since the first signs of a confrontation. Suddenly, the General moaned and pitched forward and only Larabee's close proximity allowed him to catch the taller man and slow his descent to the floor where he lay gasping and curled in on himself.

Twin cries of 'Jack' were heard from Hammond and Jackson. Larabee glanced up as small, delicate hands hovered over the SGC commander's form. His hands came up to push her away, but a clasp on his shoulder stilled the move and he looked up into the black eyes of Thor.

"Allow her to assist. There are powers which you do not understand but that can help."

Larabee's green eyes flicked from the black orbs of the alien to the worried eyes of Hammond. When the General nodded, Chris took a deep breath and turned back to watch over his commander as the woman's hands floated inches above the still body.

When Valeria finally looked up, her hands continued to hover above O'Neill's chest. Her voice was strained as she spoke to the gray alien, breathless with exertion.

"He is… poisoned. His organs…are damaged. He…is…dying." Her eyes went from Thor to the three men gathered around, their pain evident in their faces. "I can…slow…perhaps stop… the progression…heal given time…but…"

"We shall take him to my ship. Once the healing has started, stasis will allow him time to recover."

"No" Larabee spat as he stood, his hand going to his sidearm.

Hammond gripped the soldier and commanded him, "Thor can be trusted, Commander. I will allow this. Is that understood?"

Chris muscles flexed as his clenched his jaws, his nostrils flared in anger, but he nodded once, curtly and stepped back. He had little experience in these things. He knew some of the history of SGC, knew that Hammond had commanded before O'Neill, therefore he accepted the order. But he didn't like it, not for one minute.

The Special Ops team leader watched as the woman, the alien and the commander shimmered and started to fade. Suddenly, Chris grimaced and lurched forward as pain shot through his head. Moments later, a second bolt of pain had him dropping to his knees and his hands coming up even as a third assault had his stomach lurching. Jackson reached out and gripped Chris' arms to steady him when a wail of despair tore through the room. The shimmering image of Valeria alternately solidified and shimmered while revealing the woman with her head thrown back and her mouth wide before her image faded to nothing. She was gone, yet the room reverberated with the cry…

"MY SON! NOOO!"


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, Ez, have you seen the kid?"

The ex-CIA operative cocked his head to the left as he considered the question. Finally, he shook his head in response and stated, "No, Lt. Commander, I don't believe that I have seen any children on base. Have you lost one?"

Buck frowned at the smaller man, but not getting a reaction, he rolled his eyes. "JD. Have you seen JD around here?"

"Ah, young Mr. Dunne. Yes, as a matter of fact, I passed him in the hall only moments ago." Standish smiled up at the taller man as he replied. The smile faded slightly as he added, "He seemed quite distracted. Is everything all right?"

Glancing past Ezra, Buck shrugged. "Don't really know for sure. That's why I was looking for him. We were in the mess hall with Vin and the kid suddenly jumps up and walks out."

"Perhaps something you said…" the southerner allowed his statement to hang in the air.

Buck snorted at the idea, adding, "more likely something that lanky Texan said." Wilmington stepped around the younger man and backing away, pointed down the corridor. "You saw him down here?"

Ezra nodded.

"Did he go into the control room or the gateroom? Did you notice?"

Noticing the worried expression on Buck's face, Standish trailed after the older man, explaining, "I'm afraid I was not paying attention to his destination. If it is that important, allow me to suggest that while you explore the control room, I shall investigate the gateroom."

"Thanks, Ez. I appreciate it."

The pair split, heading for the two rooms. The two men had only moved two steps away from each other when the sound of a shot, followed moments later by more shots, the sound echoing down the corridor, closely followed by the claxon sounding overhead. With a quick glance at each other, the two headed for the gateroom just down the hall, only to find the steel door firmly sealed. They reversed direction and ran to the control room that overlooked the now sealed room.

Jogging up the stairs, Wilmington caught sight of Walter Davis standing at the window. "Davis, who sounded the alarm?"

The short Sergeant turned briefly, glancing at the two approaching men, but quickly turned back to face the glass barrier to the gate room. "It's Lt. Travis, sir."

Joining the man at the glass, both men froze momentarily at the sight before them. In that split second, they each surveyed and memorized the layout of room and the positions of its occupants as they could be seen below

Four people occupied the room, three men and a woman with two of the men bleeding. Doctor Malachi lay on his stomach at the end of the ramp leading up to the gate, blood staining the back of his shirt as well as the surrounding floor. The man was facing the gate and his face was not visible to the men in the control room, he was not moving.

John Shepard was sprawled out to the left of the ramp. He was also bleeding. Two wounds were visible on the dark blue uniform, one at his right side, near the waist and a second, high on his left shoulder. He lay with his left arm draped across his abdomen as if trying to cover the lower wound while his right arm was extended with his weapon held by lax fingers.

JD Dunne was midway between the two men, unarmed and facing the control room with Mary Travis standing behind him, one hand entwined in his dark hair, pulling his head back while her other hand gripped the young man's exposed neck. Her face was obscured by the young man's head and she looked to be saying something into his ear, something that caused the youth to grimace and shudder.

Shaking him self from his reverie, Wilmington stepped forward and slapped the intercom button. "TRAVIS! What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

Slowly, she brought her gaze up to look at the glass shield barrier between the two rooms. The smile she wore was arrogant and superior, but it was her eyes that captured the men's attention. While the regular staff of the control room had seen this before, Buck and Ezra had only been briefed about the Goa'uld. This was their first encounter with one, the glowing eyes a dead give-away, even before she spoke.

"Dial Atlantis. Now." Her voice resonated with authority.

"I don't think so," Buck responded. "You aren't going anywhere."

"I demand that you open the portal."

Buck glanced back to look at the stairs leading to General O'Neill's office, wondering why no one had come down. He knew that Larabee had been meeting with the base commander and knew that the claxons should have brought them running. The alien voice drew his attention back to the scene in the gateroom.

"I will not be denied. Open the portal or…"

As the men stared, she tightened her grip on the tender skin of her captive's throat.

"…watch the boy die."

Wilmington's hands clenched as he watched his young friend struggle against the grip of the possessed woman, his hands clutching at the woman's arm. Buck was amazed at the strength the woman demonstrated, knowing that normally the young man could have easily escaped the grip of an attacker her size. Just as JD's knees began to buckle, the hold on his throat was released and he frantically gulped in air, his chest heaving. Mary Travis' only reaction was a deep chuckle that had Wilmington turning toward the door even though he knew the steel doors were locked down, denying him access to the room and the 'woman'. He stopped short at the appearance of Daniel Jackson, General Hammond and Chris as they came down the stairs. Noticing the pale features of the team leader, Buck frowned.

"Chris…" he began, but wave of the man's hand, stopped him mid-question.

"What's the situation here, Lt. Commander?"

Buck turned to face Hammond and Doctor Jackson, reporting what he knew. "We have two men down, Shepard and Malachi…"

Daniel jumped forward to look down on the floor of the gateroom. "Doctor Malachi? What's he doing in there?"

Not having an answer for the linguist, Wilmington continued. "Travis has taken JD hostage and demands that we dial out to Atlantis."

"What?" Chris growled. He moved to step forward, but Buck's hand stilled the motion.

"She's been taken over, Chris…a Goa'uld."

"How the hell did one of those creatures get onto this base?" General Hammond demanded.

Daniel shuddered and turned to face the room and the four men. "I think it was Malachi."

"What makes you think that, Doctor Jackson?"

Turning back, Daniel pointed toward the unconscious man. "Look at his neck, General."

The men stepped forward and peered down to see what the man was referring to. Although blood stained the back of the man's shirt, it was low, leaving little doubt that the red stain on Malachi's neck and collar confirmed the existence of a Goa'uld snake and its escape from Malachi to take another host in the form of Mary Travis.

The woman's face was turned away at that moment, but she turned back as if sensing the audience that she now entertained.

"Daniel Jackson, Larabee. You will order the gate dialed to Atlantis or I shall kill each of these men while you watch."

"And if we allow you to leave…you'll leave my men behind?" Chris questioned.

His answer came in form of another throaty laugh from the pilot. "I have need of these two young ones," she said, indicating Dunne and Sheppard.

Sensing Wilmington tense at his side, the Special Ops team leader placed his hand on the man's sleeve, the light touch enough to restrain the man for the moment. Knowing the Lt Commander would not interfere; Larabee turned his attention back to the Goa'uld and his men. As he studied the two men, he not only became aware of the headache that pounded at his temples, but also dull aches that he had not noticed before. Suddenly, the implications hit him and he swayed slightly.

Before anyone could react to his sudden weakness, Travis' voice rang out and drew the men's attention.

"I grow weary of this. Open the gate now. I know you have the power and the address. I will remain patient no longer."

Pulling JD closer, she once again tightened her grip and bodily lifted the young man from his feet. Feet flailing, Dunne's fingers fumbled at the exposed skin on the woman's arms, but she did not seem to notice as blood flowed down her arms to drip from her elbow to the floor.

Buck lurched forward, his palms slammed against the glass. "NO! STOP IT!" he cried.

Hammond stepped forward at this point. "All right. We'll dial the gate."

Four heads snapped around to stare at the man, all of them missing the expression of triumph on the blonde woman's face. She released her hostage and was only vaguely aware as the youth lay at her feet, coughing and wheezing for breath. Moving forward, she dragged the body of the gravely wounded Malachi away from the foot of the ramp and then turned back to John Sheppard.

Kneeling, she removed the gun from his hand and slipped it into her uniform blouse where the two guns she had taken from Malachi and Dunne also rested.

She turned to watch as the men in the control room argued and discussed their plans.

"General, we only have one shot at getting to Atlantis, only one ZPM. If we send her through the gate with those two, we'll never get them or her back," Daniel stated.

"We can't let her take them boys through that gate. We'll never see 'em again," Buck added. "Where the hell is O'Neill?"

"General O'Neill is seriously ill."

"When did this transpire?" Standish inquired.

With a deep sigh, Hammond quickly enlightened the two men about what had happened in Jack's office just before the claxons sounded the alarm.

Ezra frowned at this new information. "Convenient timing for our unwelcome guest. Will he be all right?"

"We hope so, but we can't worry about that now. We need someone to dial the gate."

Three pairs of eyes fell on Daniel Jackson. Buck had turned back to look at his young teammate, resigning him self to the fact that he could not prevent the woman taking him and the pilot away.

Swallowing hard, the scientist tightened his mouth and nodded slightly. He stepped forward and reached out to begin the procedure. The ZMP had been installed in preparation of the expedition to Atlantis so all he had to do was dial the gate coordinates.

One by one the chevrons engaged and locked. As the gate spun and locked on the eighth chevron, the event horizon exploded outward and then drew back.

The gou'ald stepped back and dragged JD to his feet and shoved him toward the inert figure of Sheppard.

"Pick him up," she instructed.

"Go to hell," JD countered, taking a stance between the man and her. His face was set in a grim expression of defiance.

A slow smile spread across the woman's features and she stepped gracefully toward the rigid figure. Placing her hand on his chest, she slowly circled, spiraling closer with each step. Finally halting with her breasts pushing into the youth's back, she leaned close, her mouth next to his ear and whispered, "You can pick him up and carry him through the gate or you can watch while I disembowel him with my bare hands. If I cannot have him, I will leave his corpse here and you, my halfling, can take his place." Then her teeth nipped at the lobe of his ear.

JD cringed at the words, at the inhuman voice, but he leapt forward at the intimate action of both her tongue and her hands, his face pale. Staggering back, he stumbled over Sheppard and the man groaned, drawing Dunne's attention.

"J…D?" Shepard stammered.

The dark haired youth dropped to his knees and placed a hand on the injured man's chest. "It's okay, John. You rest."

"Do…like…she asks…kid." John's eyes were mere slits as he looked at the young man. As his lips parted to speak, Sheppard dug deep and, using his best major voice, commanded, "Do as she says. I don't…want to…be…disemboweled…okay?" he panted.

A smile pulled at Dunne's mouth and he shook his head slowly. "I don't blame you," he whispered. Leaning forward, JD said, "You have some excellent hearing, Major." Then he took the man by the shoulders and lifted him up.

John grunted and grimaced at the movement, but blood loss caused him to quickly pass out again as JD hoisted him over his shoulder and struggled to stand. He managed to make it to his feet and, sidestepping the woman, he headed to the end of the ramp. Just before he placed his foot on the metal grating, he glanced up and made eye contact with Buck Wilmington and he smiled at the wink Buck tossed him. It was all he needed to see. That one gesture told him that if it took moving heaven and earth to get to Atlantis, Wilmington would do just that to get there and rescue his young friend.

A shove from the back got him moving again. No more words were spoken as he staggered up the ramp with his load. Pausing briefly, he stepped into the wormhole and disappeared.

Mary Travis had followed the young man up the ramp, but turned as he stepped through. She made eye contact with Larabee and tossed him a mock salute and then she also stepped through the event horizon and disappeared. Moments later, the gate disengaged as the watery surface vanished.

The men in the control room didn't move for several seconds. Moments later, the steel doors slid open and men spilled in with Josiah Sanchez and Vin Tanner in the lead. Finding no one to confront the men turned and looked up at the control room window. Buck stomped off toward the staircase and each man left in the room cringed at the enraged "FUCK" that echoed through the room.

Ezra turned just in time to reach out and grab hold of Chris Larabee as he collapsed.

Two hours later, the five remaining members of O'Neill's security team, along with Doctor Jackson and General Hammond sat around the large oval conference table. They were discussing their options and tempers were running high.

"Doctor Malachi is in the infirmary. Doc doesn't …expect him to survive." Daniel's head dropped to stare at the table. He felt responsible for the events in the gateroom. He was the one that brought Malachi into the project, the one that convinced Jack to allow him into Cheyenne Mountain and the SGC.

"So Malachi was a Goa'uld?"

Rubbing his hands across his face, Daniel nodded, "Yes, apparently so, sir."

Buck's hand slammed down in aggravation. "Didn't anyone run a security check on this guy before ya let him in here?"

Daniel's face flushed as he responded. "YES, we ran checks. The man is…was…still is a respected professor and expert in his field…"

"And a snake?" Wilmington's hands clenched at the words. Only Tanner's hand on one arm kept the Lt. Commander from rising.

Jackson stared, wide-eyed, before hunching his shoulders and nodding. Absently, his hands rose to push under his glasses and rub his eyes in an attempt to alleviate the headache that pounded behind them.

Hammond's soft, but commanding voice drew everyone's attention. "Gentleman, as frustrated as we all are, yelling accusations and pointing fingers of blame will not get our men back." The man's eyes turned to Wilmington as he continued. "Lt Commander, I have a personal stake in this also and therefore I understand and empathize with your anger, but Doctor Jackson is not the enemy here."

Buck glared at the man for a moment before taking a deep breath, releasing the pent up air and anger together. His eyes dropped to his fisted hands, which he opened and flexed. When he looked up again, the anger was gone, replaced by sorrow. Looking across the table at the linguist, he sighed.

"Daniel, I'm sorry. I know that you had no way of knowing. I just get…" Buck paused.

"Very passionate about his charges." Ezra supplied.

"And vocal. I could hear you all the way down the hall, Buck."

"Chris!" This came from Tanner as he turned at the voice to see the blond enter the room and cross to take a seat with a nod to the General.

From across the table, Nathan Jackson's eyes studied scrutinized the team's leader. "Doc release you? Or did you just walk out?"

Larabee's eyebrows rose and then he chuckled. "Both. She released me…under protest." Turning his attention back to the General, the team leader asked if they had come up with a plan to retrieve the missing personnel. Even though he had seen the pilot's actions toward the two men, Larabee's mind understood that Mary Travis was as much a victim as the two men.

With a sigh, Daniel acknowledged that all eyes had turned to him. Dropping back against into the chair, his fingers trembled over his stomach, his eyes closed as he tapped his forefingers together, stating, "We have no plan, we have no power to dial out again. The ZPM is depleted and we have no way to recharge it." His hands untwined and his arms came up to wrap around his chest. He looked at the assembled group over the rim of his glasses, studying their reaction to the news.

As the men sat quietly, each looking around at the others for suggestions, Hammond finally broke the silence. "So, we have no means of getting to Atlantis? Can any of our…'friends'… assist us?"

Daniel was shaking his head before Hammond finished speaking. "No, sir, no one has that capability."

"I can get you there."

The eight men turned toward the voice as Valeria shimmered into view with Thor at her side.

Daniel rose quickly, approaching the pair as his eyes scanned the immediate area around the two. A look of fear crossed his features as he asked, pensively, "Jack…"

"… is in stasis, resting, recovering," Thor assured the linguist.

Jackson's gaze stayed on the small creature for several moments as if assuring himself of the truth of the statement. A small smile pulled at his lips as he accepted the alien's word and he nodded slightly before jamming his hands into his pockets and stepping back.

"Do you know when Jack will be able to return, Thor?" General Hammond inquired.

The diminutive alien turned to the Texan as he spoke. "O'Neill had sustained considerable damage due to the poison introduced into his system, but thanks to Valeria's intervention, the deterioration was arrested and the stasis unit is working to repair the damage. I would estimate his return within the next five of your days." Large eyes blinked slowly as the alien turned toward the woman next to him. The dark eyes gazed on her even as he spoke to the others. "Valeria requested that I return her to this complex before my departure."

He now turned to the men in the room. "I have received a request from the two absent members of SG1. They have requested my assistance with the replicators they have encountered on P3x 452."

"Are Sam and Teal'c okay?" Daniel asked quickly.

"They are well. But I must leave now. O'Neill must remain in stasis, but I anticipate that he will be recovered by the time I return." He swiveled his large cranium toward the woman. "Do you still wish to remain here, Valeria?"

"I must remain. I must know of my son."

With a slight incline of the oversized head, Thor disappeared.

Turning to the woman, George Hammond dipped his head in acknowledgement as he said, "Thank you for your assistance, Valeria. Your intervention saved the life of a valued member of this organization, and a very dear friend. We owe you our gratitude."

The woman acknowledged the man's sincere comments even as a frown marred her beautiful features. Her voice was soft as she stated, "My son, I felt his pain, his fear…"

Chris shuddered at the pain in the woman's voice even as the rest of the team frowned at her words. Larabee stepped toward the woman. "John was involved in an incident in the gateroom."

"Does he live? I can not sense his essence."

Standish glanced around at his teammates, seeing only confusion on each of their faces. All but Wilmington were watching the Lantian. The tall man stood, his hands bracing him as he stared through the glass and down into the gateroom, below.

Hammond joined Larabee in front of the woman, explaining, "It appears that a Goa'uld gained entrance to the complex and took over one of the Special Ops team members. A firefight ensued in which John sustained gunshot injuries. The Goa'uld possessed a female pilot, took Major Sheppard and another man hostage, demanding that we gate them out."

"You allowed this creature to leave with my child?"

Getting no answer with the men, she declared, "We must go retrieve him."

Clearing his throat, Daniel shook his head. "I'm afraid that is not possible. They gated to…Atlantis."

"You have the address, why do you hesitate?'

"It's not like we don't want to go," Wilmington growled, finally turning from his position at the window.

"We don't have the power. The ZPM only had the power for one shot, one connection. It's depleted now," Daniel quickly added.

Meeting the angry Wilmington's glare, the woman cocked her head slightly. "Then there is no problem. I know of another power module."

This time Chris stepped forward. "Where? On Earth?"

The woman was once again drawn to the blond that so reminded her of her long lost son and husband. Her attitude softened as she responded. "Yes, it is on Earth. When it was decided that we would be…relocating… here, we transported the items essential for us to continue our lives on a new planet."

"What makes you believe that it's still there? Why wouldn't the others have taken it?"

"The location was known to only a few."

Buck had moved to stand next to Chris at the revelation of another power source, the spark of hope blazing in the dark blue eyes. "Well…why are we standing around? Let's go get it and get those boys back."

Chris held a hand up to still his friend. "Where is this ZMP located?"

"It is located in the city of Tartessos. If you have a celestial chart, I can indicate its exact location on this planet."

"Tartessos? Tartessos, Spain? Oh course. That makes sense," Daniel exclaimed, his hands flying up and his fingers tapping his temples. "Atlantis was thought to be located in southwestern Spain, near Cadiz," Daniel began, warming to the subject. The archeologist in him took over and he began to lecture on the subject. "A German archaeologist named Adolph Shulten-he believed that Tartessos was Atlantis, not knowing that Atlantis was actually on another planet, but all the evidence…the legend of the wonders that were Atlantis… everything pointed to that being the area where the city could be found. He searched for years, looking for Tartessos. The legends…they spoke of ships carrying gold and silver, ivory…the legend of Tartessos is the closest thing to Atlantis that…"

"Doctor Jackson," Hammond interrupted. "If you don't mind."

Daniel stopped speaking, realizing that he had gone off on a tangent. Sheepishly, he waved his hand in the air as if to erase his words. "Sorry, sorry." His fingertip came to rest on his lip, tapping lightly as he asked, "Spain, huh?"

"It was to be the second home for the people of Atlantis. We knew that the sudden appearance of thousands of people and a city large enough to house them, would garner much attention, even in those ancient times. It was decided that two, perhaps even three communities, would allow our people to integrate in on this new world."

"So what makes you think it's still there? That none of your 'people' took it years ago." Chris Larabee took a defiant stance as he challenged the woman. The two stared at each other momentarily before Valeria responding, explaining…

"This destination was known to only three people…my self, my oldest child and my husband. Argos scouted the area and took the supplies for the builders to use, supplies that were never utilized. He died before returning to Atlantis. Danaus would have never revealed the location. He would have been the leader of my people after his father's death and my disappearance. As such, it would have fallen on him to protect the people. He knew of Tartessos but not the power unit secreted within."

Larabee nodded slowly, acknowledging the woman's loss silently. It hit close to home and the man found himself empathizing with this woman.

The room was silent for a couple of moments before the phone ringing interrupted. Hammond excused him self to answer the instrument and rejoined the group after a minute.

"Doctor Malachi is awake, Doctor Jackson."

"Malachi?"

"Yes, the man we suspect of…smuggling in the Goa'uld. He was injured at the same time as John," Hammond supplied.

"JD, too." Chris' voice was barely audible.

Buck's head whipped around. "JD?"

Chris blinked several times, rapidly, then looked at the taller man. His hand ghosted across his body as he spoke. "John was hit twice, once here…' his hand passing over his shoulder. "…and here." He touched his lower right side. As his hand dropped lower, touching his thigh, he finished with, "JD took a hit here."

"How can…you sure, stud?" Buck stammered.

"He is certain," Valeria answered, her attention on Chris. "There are connections within families. You felt my son's pain as did I."

"Lady, I'm getting tired of this…mystic crap."

Drawing to her full height, the female warrior of Atlantis stepped forward. "Like it or not… understand or deny… the connection is there. You are the son of the sons of my eldest child. You felt the pain of my youngest through that connection."

Larabee scowled at the woman, not liking what she was saying but, on some level, believing her.

Valeria turned her attention to Hammond. "I wish to see Malachi."

"To what end? If I may ask," the general inquired.

"I wish to speak to him as to the reason behind the abduction of my son."

Daniel stepped forward, his hands clasped. "I have to admit, I'm curious about that my self, General. Though, knowing what we now know about his heritage, I could imagine that the Major would be an asset."

Hammond studied the face of the woman carefully. Seeing no hostility, he nodded and agreed. "I will allow you to see this man, but Larabee and his team will accompany you…" Seeing Daniel's hands come up and his fingers waggle slightly, the commander added, "and Doctor Jackson… to question the man. I have to tell you, Doctor Frasier does not believe the doctor will survive his wound."

Valeria inclined her head slightly in a gracious bow. Turning, she followed Daniel Jackson out of the room with Larabee's team trailing behind.

Within a few minutes, Daniel, Valeria, Chris and Buck were entering the infirmary. It had been decided on the way down that the presence of eight people would be too overwhelming for the injured man and probably not allowed by the petite doctor, so four members of the team waited in the hallway as the others entered the medical facility. Locating Janet Frasier, Daniel moved forward and introduced the two women.

Janet rested her hands in the over sized pockets on the white jacket she wore as she detailed the condition of her patient. "Doctor Malachi was shot once, in the back. The bullet hit his scapula and apparently began to tumble, causing massive organ damage before coming to rest next to his spine." Her eyes dropped momentarily before looking directly at Daniel and saying, "We could only repair a minor portion of the damage. He will continue to weaken and eventually…"

Daniel nodded, understanding what the woman was not saying and he reached out to touch her arm. "Thanks, Janet. I know you did everything you could."

The diminutive physician nodded and smiled her gratitude and sorrow in the same expression.

"May I see him?" Valeria asked. The gentle tone she used drew the attention of the three men. It conveyed a sadness that was both unexpected and confounding. They had expected anger at the very least, not an understanding gentleness.

Janet, unaware of the men's reactions, turned and parted a curtain directly behind her in the far corner of the room. Valeria stepped forward hesitantly and then stopped to gaze at the form that occupied the bed within and her shoulders slumped slightly as she moved forward. The men followed her in.

"Malachi" she stated.

The man that Daniel had worked with for months slowly turned his head to look at the woman and his eyes filled with tears. "Sister" he said simply.

And now Wilmington knew what the others knew. Daniel Jackson had told the others some of what transpired in O'Neill's office, but never mentioned names. These two were the twins Thor had spoken of.

The three men watched as the siblings smiled at each other, feeling that they were intruding but unable to look away.

"I can not ask you to forgive, only to understand."

"Quiet, brother. While with the Asgard people, I have come to learn more of this parasitic race known as Goa'uld. Thor explained of the vast infection of this race in this territory." Her hand rose to stroke the cheek of the dying man. "We knew of the inability of their human hosts to resist. I only wish I had known and could have aided you in some way."

"Valeria, I killed Argos…I killed him. I would have taken your child…"

The woman's fingers touched her brother's lips and she tapped gently. "You did nothing, my brother. It was the doing of the evil that controlled you."

The pair silently embraced for several moments and then the woman pulled away as the man whispered, "I am dying, sister. I have much to atone for."

"You are a good man, Malachi. None of us are pure. Know only that you are a loved brother, more so now than before."

It was obvious to everyone that the man was growing weaker with each moment. Valeria held the frail hand as she asked, "Why did this creature want my son, Malachi? Why did it want to return to Atlantis?"

Drawing in a deep breath, he explained that the Goa'uld was a lower class system lord, but very ambitious. After being banished by the other system lords, Duamutef roamed the different worlds through the gates, plotting his revenge.

He had wanted to take an Ancient back to Atlantis to be used as a host. The power of an Ancient combined with that of a strong Goa'uld would be nearly impossible to stop. John Sheppard was one of the last full blooded Ancients still alive and therefore a prize to be had.

"When we came to earth to place the naquadah markers in the Goa'uld larvae, we were attacked by Duamutef and his followers. I was grievously injured and told Argos to leave me. He knew that I was dying and reluctantly agreed." The man paled and gasped as a wave of pain stole his breath. Gripping the sheet in his fist, he struggled to gain control and continue his story. "Duamutef came to me, promising things…he couldn't simply take me…said that I had to give my self over to him"

Malachi's eyes filled and his voice was a whispered as he admitted. "I did not wish to die. I thought I could control him… could find a way to remove him…after he had mended my injuries. Instead, through me, he has been able to amass an army of Jaffa and Goa'uld larvae to try and regain his footing within the system lords. " He looked at the woman and admitted, "I was arrogant." Laughing softly, he admonished, "It would seem to be a fatal flaw in our species," referring to the Lantians lost war against the Wraith.

"I am sorry that Duamutef was able to take your child. I would have spared him that if I had been able."

Chris stepped closer, into Malachi's view as he asked, "How did you find him?"

The male twin's hand came up to rest on his chest. "I felt him…I felt them, both."

"Both?" Valeria queried.

"Both of our children." His hand suddenly tightened around his sister's as a wave of pain sweep through him, leaving him panting in its wake. His eyes squeezed closed as he fought to regain control. Finally, he looked up and continued. "I looked for your child after you disappeared, I thought that you ascended. I was stranded in this time and place with no way to return home."

His eyes moved to the men that stood at the foot of the bed. "I had to wait for you to understand the gate and find a way to power it and dial out. Once I knew the people of this planet had developed that knowledge, I conceived a plot to draw their attention to me and garner me access to the only way home."

"So, you've been on this planet for over thirty years? But you don't look over thirty-five or forty," Chris observed.

"We do not age as earthlings do. We are much older than we appear in terms of your years."

Daniel moved forward to lean on the rail at the foot of the bed. "You said 'both'. Who are you talking about?"

"My son," Malachi stated softly.

"Son?"

He looked back at his sister. "I have been on this planet for many years. I met a woman…and we were…together…briefly. I did not know…that a child had been conceived…until I sensed him…as well as your son…when they came to rescue us…in the desert." He turned his attention back to Daniel but it was Wilmington that reacted.

"No. You can't mean…"

Chris frowned as he looked at his old friend. Realization came and he turned back to Malachi for confirmation.

"John Sheppard is the son of my sister and her husband, Argos. John Dunne is the son of Katherine Dunne and myself."

Time seemed suspended in the room as the implications of this statement sank in. Chris Larabee's face hardened as he realized that this newly revealed information was the reason that his men had been targeted and taken, while Buck Wilmington wore an expression of loss. The young ex-Delta agent had been alone after losing his mother only months before joining Larabee's team. Having lost his own mother at around the same age, the Lt. Commander had taken the young man under his wing from the start. Now this man claimed to be the young man's father and that knowledge created a sense of melancholy in the tall man.

Everyone's attention was drawn back to the bedridden man as he began to gasp for breath. Grasping her brother's hand, Valeria stroked his cheek as Janet Frasier bustled in. She quickly adjusted the bed to relief some of the pressure on the damaged lungs. After several moments, Malachi's breathing eased and his head dropped into the pillow, his eyes closed.

Janet turned and met the gazes of the people gathered around the bed. She sighed and shook her head before quietly passing through the curtain. The men and woman stood silent at the death sentence of that simple motion.

Suddenly a light seemed to emanate from the very air around them before assembling into a human form. Daniel was the first to react.

"Oma?"

"Hello, Daniel. How are you?" The light shimmered and solidified into the form of a woman.

Shaking his head, Daniel adjusted his glasses as he replied, "I'm fine, thank you. What are you doing here, Oma?"

The Ascended Ancient turned to the bed as she spoke. "He is dying. I wish to assist his ascension."

Oma turned to face the twins. Her eyes went first to Valeria and then Malachi. "I am here to offer you another chance, another life, in replacement for the years lost to you. Your injuries are fatal. There is nothing I can do to prevent this. Change and live, or die. It is your choice."

The man turned away, hiding his emotions. A soft touch drew his eyes back to his sister.

"Malachi, you have lost much, suffered much in these past years. Do not deny yourself this opportunity at life."

"I have lived, sister. I..."

"No, you have existed within your own body, but you have not lived. I hold no ill feelings toward you, brother. I would hope to know you again…on this other plane of existence."

The twins stared into each other's eyes and a silent pact was made. With a slight smile on his face, Malachi's eyes slid closed. An alarm sounded, drawing the petite doctor back to the bedside. She paused only briefly at the appearance of Oma standing on the far side of the bed. Pulling a stethoscope from her pocket, Frazier listened to the man's chest. With a sigh, she stepped back, draping the instrument around her neck.

She turned off the alarm and turned to the woman standing at the head of the bed. "I'm sorry. There was nothing more I could do."

Valeria inclined her head slightly, a silent acknowledgement to the doctor's words.

With a glance at the men standing at the foot of the bed, Janet Frazier exited the area.

Oma placed her hands on the motionless chest. As the assembled group watched, light shimmered and engulfed the still form of Malachi. The light rose and separated from the lifeless body of the male twin. Valeria's eyes left the still body of her twin as it slowly disappeared, leaving only the empty green infirmary gown. The light slowly rose and moved next to the human form of the ascended Oma, twinkling. Oma bowed her head towards Valeria before the priestess form shifted, changed, dissolved, and matching that of Malachi. The two figures hovered for a moment and then rose and disappeared through the ceiling. Valeria stood silent for several moments.

Stepping away, she drew her shoulders back. "We must retrieve the power module. The need to return to Atlantis and prevent this 'Duamutef' from gaining control of, not only my child, but the city its self, is paramount."

Leaning on the foot of the bed, Chris nodded as Daniel stated, "Well, with Thor gone, we'll just have to do this the old fashioned way. I'll talk to General Hammond and see if he can arrange a plane for us."

Within the hour, they were all standing in the conference room, watching and listening as George Hammond hung up the phone. His eyes rose to survey the group in face of him.

"I've already arranged authorization for transportation and vehicles when you arrive at Istres in Marseille. From there, you can take choppers to Tartessos." Turning to the woman, he asked, "Do you have the coordinates for this hidden city? Something that we can relate to?"

"I need only a map."

Nodding and turning to Larabee, Hammond instructed, "Your team will escort Miss…Valeria. Assist her in anything she needs to retrieve the ZPM. Transport is waiting at Peterson. I expect you back here in forty eight hours."

As the Special Ops team and the woman exited to gather their equipment and prepare for their departure, Daniel approached the General. "Ah, I was wondering…"

Hammond held up a hand before the linguist could finish his request. "I would ask that you remain on base, Doctor Jackson. This is not exploration, but retrieval. The site will still be there for you later…after we have completed this mission."

Daniel nodded, understanding the urgency of the undertaking the team was embarking on. With Sam and Teal'c off world and Jack out of commission, Hammond would need help coordinating the rest of the personnel and equipment that would be going through the gate to Atlantis. The power left in the ZMP that Larabee's team was heading out to retrieve was unknown. It was imperative that, should it contain power for only one shot at opening the gate, they had to have everything in place to send a team of troops, scientists, doctors, and all the equipment they might need on this unknown region of space. If there was no power left after this attempt, the personnel would be stranded with no support from SG1.

"I understand, sir. Perhaps I can help with getting things lined up for the expedition to Atlantis."

Clapping a hand on the younger man's shoulder, the Texas-born General nodded. "Son, I can use all the help I can get. Why don't we go into Jack's office and see what he had planned?"

With a nod of agreement, the two men set off.

The event horizon gave off the eerie bluish-greenishtint as JD tumbled out of the gate. Stumbling, the smaller man tightened his grip on his unconscious friend, but a hard shove from behind caused JD's knees to collapse, sending him head over heels, allowing the major's body to slip through his fingers. The young man landed hard on his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs. The last thing JD heard before his own body shut down was a sharp cracking noise as the major's head contracted the cold platform.

The Goa'uld casually stepped out of the event horizon and stood silently at the base of the Stargate. The city felt different, estranged as the creature's eyes scanned the immense room. The once great city was at minimum power; the dimmed lights gave a ghostly radiance to the room.

Not quite the welcome he expected, but then he, 'no she', the Goa'uld sniggered, was no longer in her Lantian male host. Duamutef, one of the 'Four Son of Horus', ran his hands over the human host's body, adjusting to the feel of being female for the first time. The Serpentine's eyes settled on the two earthlings splayed at his feet; no longer would the city deny him the secrets of the Ancients-not while he held within his grasp the power to become the most powerful System Lord, dominate enough to threaten his uncle, Anubis. Duamutef glanced around the abandoned Control Center, lost in thought. For thirty-five years, the Goa'uld had waited to return to the great city and take his revenge on the witch, Valeria, and her people.

Duamutef had chosen the wrong twin those many years ago, he told himself. Had he bided his time, and not revealed his true identity so early to Argos; he would now be the ruler over the Pegasus System. He had misjudged the female twin, a wolf in sheep's clothing, hiding among the Lantian people. He had first-hand experience of the psychological power of Valeria, from when she had defended her unborn child from his mental attack. The Lantian's ruthless probe still sent chills through Duamutef, reflecting in his now host's quivering body.

His gaze fell on the dark haired warrior. The soldier, for all appearances, was a thirty-five year old human male, however, in actuality, the full-blooded Lantian was no more an infant, barely out of toddler years.

Duamutef turned the pale blue eyes of the host to the younger boy. Only younger in appearance, he had to remember. The one called JD Dunne was only half Lantian, a child from his previous host, Malachi, the witch's twin brother. He chuckled, a strange high-pitched sound, strange to his ears after years with Malachi, as he thought of the young Halfling, the impure progeny of Malachi and the human woman. The Goa'uld could only wonder about the child's growth development being a product of two different races of beings.

The lights remained muted; the once great city had failed to react to Duamutef's presence; damn, child. The city would no longer respond to him as long as he remained in the taui female. The young one had forced his hand in the gate room; by inflicting a fatal wound to the Lantian host, he had compelled him to take another. The Goa'uld had been unprepared for the female human to step in between him and the intended victim. Enraged, the Goa'uld turned and viciously kicked JD's side, rousing a weak grunt from the boy.

He would take great pleasure in inflicting pain on the boy for shattering his plans to return to Atlantis undetected as part of the expedition team under Doctor Weir. The stillness of the Control Center disturbed Duamutef, something was wrong. He pivoted around to face the inactivated gate, "The shield, the shield projecting the iris is not activated," he growled. Spinning, he stormed toward the Control Center.

Without breaking stride, he bent over, grabbing the collar of Sheppard's shirt with one hand, taking several steps before hauling his body up onto weak knees to face him.

A slit of green peeked out under dark eyelashes. The repulsion was evident as Mary Travis brought her lips down upon those of the young Lantian. "No…" Sheppard muttered, clamping his lips shut and denying Travis' wet tongue entrance.

"You taste delicious, infant," the host whispered, changing tactics by licking Sheppard's dry lips. "I can't wait to possess you." The soldier thrashed about, "do not attempt to resist me." With one hand holding the boy up, Duamutef grabbed the back of his head with his other hand, fingers wrapping painfully tight in the dark, wild hair and forcing the soldier's reluctant lips closer. "I want to see your eyes when I take you."

"NO!" Sheppard yelled, or tried to, but his voice was so rough and dry, the Goa'uld heard only a squeak.

"You defy me, infant?" Duamutef locked eyes with the Lantian; he could see the golden fire of rebellion dancing in the infant's eyes. "Yes, you do…" and he threw back his head and laughed humorously. "Oh, infant, I shall take great pleasure in breaking your will to mine before I take you as host." He yanked the black hair in his fingers, hard, exposing Sheppard's long neck. His tongue darted out of the host's mouth, leaving a wet, sticky trail along the tender skin and upward.

As the wet tongue moved back to his lips, John opened his mouth and waited for Mary's tongue to enter. Repulsed, he fought the nauseous feeling growing in his stomach as he felt her hot moisture against his teeth. He clamped down hard, swallowing blood and vomit. A loud, pain-filled screech ripped across the room and he found himself heaved backwards.

"How dare you defy me!" Duamutef's fist struck out, hitting the major squarely in the jaw. Enraged, the Goa'uld's fists continued to plummet the soldier, driving him to the ground. White, glowing eyes stared down at the boy curled in a fetal position, protecting vulnerable body parts. "I will make you pay for that," he vowed, wiping the blood from his bottom lip with the back of his hand.

Bending down, Duamutef, none to gently, grabbed the back of the major's neck with one hand, the other grabbed the back of his waistband lifting him easily to his feet, then began to haul him toward the steps leading to the second floor. Sheppard struggled in vain against the hand around his neck.

The symbols on the risers glowed brightly as Duamutef forcibly pushed Sheppard's unwilling body up the steps. Hesitating only a moment to get his bearings, the Goa'uld strode over to a set of curved desks covered by thin sheets. Dumping the dazed major at the base of the center control, Duamutef reached out, yanking the sheets off to send them fluttering to the ground. He moved around and did the same to each console. Reaching the last console, he placed hands on the control board, waiting for them to light up, but there was no response; after a few moments, the Goa'uld pounded the raised triangle on the upper right hand side of the console trying to engage the shield that protected the gate. Centered on the panel were two trapezoid shapes, one inverted over the other, two rows of triangle-shaped keys on the lower and three rows on the upper. Within each triangle was craved the ancient symbols which corresponded to the symbols on the Stargate.

'Of course,' he thought, his new human host did not possess the ancient gene which activated the devices in the city. 'Most inconvenient,' the Goa'uld thought. Growling in frustration, he stomped back to the upper console and reached down, yanking Sheppard up. Dragging him back to the lower console, he raised the incoherent pilot to his feet and threw him hard against the edge of the board. "Activate the iris shield."

Sheppard struggled to stand on his feet; breathing hard, the major sucked needed air into his burning lungs, "I… I… don't know what the hell you're talking about Travis."

"Place the palm of your hand on the console, major." The host leaned over and grabbed John's right hand, smashing it down on the board. The major howled in pain as the sharp edges of the raised triangle ripped open his flesh, causing a trail of blood to run down the console and drip onto the floor. "Now, tell the city to activate the shield on the gate."

"Tell who…what?" He shook back the white fog that was attempting to drag him into the darkness. "What the hell's going on, Lieutenant?" Sheppard spat back, leaning his hip against the edge for support, taking in a deep breath and then slowly releasing it. He tried to clear the murkiness from his mind while fighting the pounding headache from hell. He remembered that he had been shot, twice, both times by Professor Malachi. The major's facial muscles twitched nervously; his eyes narrowed with suspicion as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings even as he looked around for his attacker. Nervous, he chewed at his bottom lip. He was losing blood at an alarming rate; blood coated his upper torso from the first bullet that hit him high in the shoulder before going through. The second bullet felt like it was still lodged in his side, right below his waistline; wet, sticky blood chugged sluggishly down the front of his thigh, gluing his fatigues to his leg. Locking his knees, he stood straighter and spoke in a low, threatening tone, "I don't know what your problem is, Lieutenant, but we are in serious trouble here." He felt Mary's fingernails digging into his back as she leaned forward, her hot breath scorching his neck.

Sheppard's body tensed, taking on a defensive stance. The hand digging into his back sent a chill down his spine. Once again, his stomach started to rebel, "Get you hands off me, Travis." Distressed, the major's green eyes darted around wildly, expecting to see the Professor hovering. Instead his body doubled over in pain; he could feel the bile rising in his throat, his pulse roared in his ears and the soldier's survival instincts kicked into gear. 'Escape… elude…seek cover…and wait for…' in John's weakened state, his mind went back to his childhood, bruised and beaten, cowering in a dark closet, hiding from a drunken stepfather, a young boy that had silently called out for help, much as he did now.

"Stupid, infant, there is no escape," Duamutef spewed out the words with a malicious glee, "no one is coming to save you." The major's face paled, a feeling of dread running up his spine from the double layer voice, the same voice from his childhood nightmares. "Do you remember me, infant? I almost had you and your witch of a mother…before Danaus' interference long ago." The Goa'uld lowered his host's voice, whispering to the man's ear. "Your so-called guardian has abandoned you; he will not answer your pitiful cries, child." The major's body wobbled as the host's warm tongue licked against his neck, "Now…picture raising the shield on the gate with your mind. Do it before…I become angry with you." Taunting, he nipped at the major's neck, leaving teeth marks. A superior grin flashed across his lips as the major's body stiffened in apprehension. "Such fear in one so brave, I will enjoy feeling you struggle against this new body of mine as I take you," he sneered. Duamutef jerked the major's face around to stare into her glowing eyes, "Do you understand?" his double layered voice thick with insinuation, echoed around the immense room.

Sheppard's dark brows furrowed deeply, searching deep in his mind where he had locked away those childhood nightmares behind steel door of his subconscious; doors which he had hoped to never to open again. Now those doors were flung wide open as the memories tore at John's soul, and the meaning of Travis' words soaked into his confused mind. 'Possess, possess…' the creature he thought, accepting that the person before him was no longer the woman he knew as Mary Travis, wanted to possess him in body and soul. "No… no…no…" Sheppard moaned as his mind subconsciously howled in terror. Eyes rolling back, the major let his mind drift away into an endless sea of darkness, drifting, waiting for someone to answer his cry for help.

Duamutef caught the major as his knees buckled, his bloody palm sliding off the board to hang unresponsive. "No, you will not defy me again," tilting his head back, the host roared out in irritation, "I have waited too long; I will not be denied my place among the System Lords."

"The shield on the gate must be raised." Duamutef jerked Sheppard's limp hand back up to the dormant console, "I will kill the infant," he shouted out, as if the great city were alive and listening. The Goa'uld waited for a response, with none coming, he slammed the dark haired 'infant's' face into the board, "You shall watch as I tear him apart, piece by piece, body and soul. You will feel his pain and know his suffering as his life's blood splatters against your walls." The Goa'uld raised the limp form onto its legs and with his Goa'uld strength, tossed the major toward the steps.

Duamutef released a hideous laugh, and sauntering towards the major's unconscious body, kicked it off the edge, sending it tumbling down the steps. "You will regret defying me, infant." Duamutef stood staring down at the pool of blood spreading out from under the Lantian. Shaking his head, he knew he had allowed his temper to get away from him, and now he would have to heal the soldier before taking him as a host.

Duamutef had to rethink his plans, keep his temper under control as he battled to possess John Sheppard as his next host. If he went too far, the Lantian 'infant' would ascend to escape, something he could not allow. He had to keep him confused, in pain; cloud his mind so that he would stop calling out to his absent guardian. The host's body reacted with a jerk as Duamutef sifted through her memories.

He had easily identified Lt. Commander Wilmington as Malachi's child's guardian; he would need to be on guard. The Goa'uld knew that Wilmington would be driven to follow the boy. However, during his time at Stargate command, he had failed to identify the 'infant's' protector. A thought came unbidden, 'If the infant had survived, then had the witch also? Was that why no protector had yet been selected?' Duamutef's eyes narrowed, his host was attempting to conceal an image, the face of the infant's protector perhaps? Or simply the likeness of a past lover? The Goa'uld could not be sure, but the face of the blonde haired Commander Larabee sent a chill down the worm's spine. 'Infant's guardian or past lover?' he leaned toward the latter, but hoped for the former. Larabee would be a worthy adversary.

Duamutef snickered in glee, never before had a Lantian child faced an enemy without the protection of a guardian. Where was the Lantian leader, Valeria? She would never have abandoned her child, in life or death, before turning over guardianship. With Malachi as host, Duamutef had researched through the humans' ancient history, looking for clues of where the Lantians had taken refuge; he had learned that Danaus, the witch's oldest son, had lived out his life in the ancient city of Tartessos before disappearing along with his mate.

Nowhere had Duamutef found mention of Valeria in earth's history and he now suspected Asgard interference. Valeria and he had been thrown through the human gate in nineteen-sixty-nine, some thirty-five years past; they had been locked in deadly battle, mentally and physically. His then host, Malachi, had fought against his control and failed. But the battle, both to maintain control of the host body and fight the physical form of the witch, had left Duamutef weak. Desperate to not only win, but survive, Duamutef attacked the Lantian's weakest spot, her unborn child. The sudden attack had sent Valeria into labor just as they were ejected from the gate.

Weak from the fight, Duamutef had retreated deep into Malachi's mind, leaving his host lost and confused. Insensible, Malachi had walked away, to wander the earth, leaving his twin sister dying in childbirth.

Knowing the technology that existed on earth in the sixties, nothing in that time period could have saved the female warrior and her child. Only the Asgard with their superior knowledge would have the advanced medical capabilities to save her. Oh, he knew of the Asgard and their meddling with the humans; and one Asgard in particular, Supreme Commander Thor's fondness for one Jack O'Neill. Duamutef had lured Daniel Jackson to the dig site in Afghanistan in hopes of meeting the hated enemy, O'Neill, one reported to have the ancient gene. The Goa'uld chuckled, knowing that by now, the humans should be too preoccupied with trying to save O'Neill's life to care about the two kidnapped personnel.

A memory dug at the back of Duamutef's mind, he still possessed the memories and the dwindling mental powers of his previous host, Malachi. Eyes glowing bright white, Duamutef shrieked in rage, he could almost hear the witch's voice '_My son, my son'_ echoing in his mind, words heard as the host fell. So, once again, the witch, Valeria, had interfered with his plans for conquest…the Lantian warrior had survived, which meant Duamutef didn't have much time before he would have unwelcome guests coming through the gate.

Slowly, Duamutef turned his back on the two unconscious humans to make his way across the Center Control. Nothing would stop the warrior coming to Atlantis for her son. The Goa'uld laughed to himself. If he planned it right, Duamutef could use the 'infant' to force the Lantian warrior to submit to his will and become his host for all eternity. Walking slowly down the long silent passages, a sneer pulled at his lips and he trailed his fingertips along the walls, plotting his next move against the witch.


	6. Chapter 6

JD woke painfully to what sounded like someone running their fingernails along a chalkboard. Moaning, the ex-Delta curled into himself. Rocking back and forth, he fought to control the pain radiating from the bullet wound through the meaty part of his thigh. Shivering, JD clinched his jaw shut to stop his teeth from chattering. Sifting through his memories, the dark haired soldier struggled to remember what had happened. How long had he been out, he wondered. A sharp pain shot up his leg to his groin, reminding him once again of the wound that he needed to attend to. Both hands instantly went to his thigh to stop the bleeding. It hurt, bad and he gasped. Slowly, JD brought his breathing under control and tried to recall Nathan's lessons on first aid.

He quickly tore at his black t-shirt, ripping the material into long strips and folding some of the cloth into a pressure bandage. Slowing, JD wrapped what was left of his shirt around his upper thigh to stop the bleeding. Finished, Dunne rolled onto his back and then closed his eyes and clenched his mouth closed to stop the moan of pain the action caused. The soldier shivered, the marble floor cold against his bare flesh.

The haunting scraping noise once again brought the young man out of his haze of pain and JD's eyes snapped open as he remembered the events that led him to this place. "Major?" JD barely choked out as he struggled to sit up. Frantic, the young man struggled to his knees, "Sheppard?" he called out again.

JD blinked a couple of times to adjust his eyesight to the dimly lit room. It was cold, and dark, with only an eerie supernatural glow. His strained voice echoed around the cavernous room as he called out to the major again. Only his own hesitant voice answered him back. JD started to panic, remembering that the man had been shot, had blacked out as they started through the wormhole. He would be defenseless, dependent on Dunne for protection. And now, because of his inability to maintain a grip on the man, the major might have a serious concussion…or worse…be in the enemy's hands.

'The enemy.' The young man shivered; he could still feel Travis' hot breath on his neck. What the hell had he walked into? One minute he was in the commissary with Buck and Vin, shoveling food into his mouth and the next, he had the feeling deep in his gut that someone was calling for him…needing him…needing his protection. Within minutes, he found himself in the embankment room, a gunshot wound in the leg, facing down a Goa'uld, finally forced to carry the pilot through the StarGate.

Glancing around, the soldier took in his surroundings. Behind him was the Stargate, casting a creepy glow over the room. JD could just make out that the room had a tall octagon ceiling; that there were steps leading downward to the right and left of where he sat. Straight ahead, JD could barely make out steps with symbols glowing dimly in the risers leading upward. They ended at a small platform with stairs leading off to the left and right, going up to a second floor where a balcony overlooked the StarGate. There appeared to be smaller rooms further back on that level. JD froze, only his eyes moved as he watched the shadow that moved on the second level.

"Travis," he uttered under his breath. He waited until the woman's silhouette disappeared through a doorway, and then struggled to his knees, forcing back a pain filled moan. He shook his head to clear the fog in his mind; he knew that his first priority was to find the major, then to find a defensible place to hide. After that, all they had to do was wait until Buck brought the cavalry.

Moving around on all fours, JD had only crawled a few feet when his left hand landed in a wet, sticky substance. Holding his hand up to his face to get a better look, he smelled the copper odor of blood even before the dim light hit his hand. He hurriedly wiped the bloody palm against his pants. Sluggishly, he followed the gory trail, knowing that he would find the pilot at the end.

To JD, it seemed like it took him an hour to crawl the short distance from the gate to where the major's unconscious body had been dumped near the steps leading to the second floor. As he stared down on Sheppard's body, now curled into a fetal position, all kinds of horrible images flashed through the young agent's mind as to what condition he would find the man in when he turned him over. His hands shook as they hovered over the still body of his new friend.

"God, please, please, don't let him have suffered." JD sent up a silent prayer, hoping that the woman hadn't fulfilled her threat and gutted their new pilot. Taking a deep breath, JD placed one hand on the major's back and the other under the officer's blood matted hair and gently turned him over.

"Shit," JD murmured, seeing the blood running down the major's face from a laceration on his left temple that left the man's skin pale and clammy. A dark black and blue discoloration was already forming on the side of his jaw.

The ex-DELTA agent's eyes latched onto the dark crimson stain spreading out across the upper right side of the soldier's uniform. Trembling, JD placed his fingers against the major's neck to check for a pulse; he was shocked…and thrilled… to find a fast, weak rhythm. He had been sure that the major was dead.

Realizing the man was still alive he instantly went into action. He ripped open the major's blue BDU's shirt. And like he had done to his own black undershirt, he tore and folded the bottom half of the material into a pressure bandage and pressed it against the bleeding shoulder. Leaning the unconscious soldier against his chest, JD checked for an exit wound and released a shuddering breath that he had not even realized he was holding at the sight of the larger hole, thankful that the bullet had passed through. Holding the limp body, he struggled to get the soldier out of his BDU shirt, hoping to use the material. Tearing the Major's shirt, he quickly made another pressure bandage, pressing it into the exit wound. His eyes kept darting around the room as he finished wrapping the major's shoulder with what was left of his bloody BDU shirt and then immobilized the left arm against his chest.

JD carefully lowered the major back down, taking in his shallow, accelerated breathing. He was worried that the man hadn't come around during his rough handling. Next, JD ran his hands down the major's chest, wincing at the sight of more black and blue bruises covering his rib cage. But it was the heavy flow of blood spreading out around the major's waistline and lower that sent the younger man into a flurry of frantic action.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I have to check… I can do this," JD whispered as his trembling hands started to undo the major's belt buckle. Closing his eyes, he reached to undo the fly when he felt the back of his neck tingling, almost as if something was warning him of impending peril. Impulsively turning, he raised his hands in defense, placing his body between the major and the looming danger.

"Please…don't stop on my account."

"What the hell is going on, Lt. Travis?" JD spat back at the demented pilot, even knowing that he wasn't talking to the pilot.

"That is what the infant called me. Is that what my host is called?" the light-colored woman questioned. "Lt. Travis… not much of a name." JD eyes widened, watching as Travis' hands sexually roamed her body, "Yes, I like this body… for now." JD fell backwards, tripping over Sheppard's inert body to land on his backside, groaning as his lower back impacted the bottom step leading to the second floor.

"Who… what are you?" JD stuttered out. His young body quivered at the lust radiating from the cold, glowing eyes of his friend.

"Duamutef, Son of Horus, nephew to Anubis, and your new Master, halfling," he said in a deep resonant voice as he reached out, eyes glowing white, one hand hovering over the unaware soldier, palm out. The gold metal of the Goa'uld device on his fingers shimmered in the dim light.

"What...what are you doing?" JD scrambled to his knees. Reaching out, the boy seized hold of Sheppard's waistband, dragging the major's body away from the creature. "You're… you're a Goa'uld." In a blind panic, JD scrambled backwards, stumbling up several steps before over balancing, sending both men crashing back down. The frantic agent landed hard on his back, crying out when the major's dead weight landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of him. Breathing hard, JD snaked his arms possessively around Sheppard's thin waist, pulling them both up into a sitting position, with the unconscious soldier's back against his upper torso.

The Goa'uld's deep, double layer laughter echoed around the gate room as he looked down on the two humans. His Ancient prey looked so delicious resting against the young one's chest. The creature within the host had desired this prey for a long, long time, making the coming possession that much sweeter. "The boy… no," Duamutef chuckled, shaking his head, "the infant… has his mother's coloring, down to his dark, disheveled hair." The Son of Horus kneeled, "I have searched thirty five years for you, infant. Our joining will be sweet."

Reaching out, the creature inside Travis' body ran his fingers down Sheppard's cheek, leaving a bloody trail down the 'infant's' neck. How charming, the creature thought, both 'younglings' were trembling in fear; Duamutef could almost feel the pain he was causing. "Ahh… the 'infant' is waking." Knowing that he had to work fast, his hands whipped out, gripping the major's head between them, and jerking it roughly to the side to expose the back of the soldier's neck.

"No…no…no… this is not happening," JD cried out, pulling John toward him. But having nowhere to go, he could only watch with wide, anguish-filled eyes as the Goa'uld opened the host mouth wide. Terrified, JD kept yelling… "Major…awake up. Please wake up." With tears running down both cheeks and his feet scrambling to get a purchase, he pulled back hard on the body in his arms.

"Mary! For the love of God, don't do this." JD crushed his arms around John tightly, and then yanked hard against the major's waist, dragging his body along as he scooted up one step at a time, backwards. "Someone help us… please."

The younger man could feel the pilot's warm blood running down his arms, along with the hot breath of the Goa'uld as the creature hovered over them, matching him step for step. They were playing a game of tug-a-war, with John Sheppard as the prize. Winner take all.

Petrified out of his mind, but unwilling to abandon his friend, JD grabbed the limp hands of his friend, squeezing hard; he pulled their entangled left hands up to hold against the major's bloody chest. "No… no… you can't have him," JD wailed, unaware of the pilot's fingers squeezing back. "Please, someone help us."

The worm crested Travis's mouth, the wings on each side of its head spread out, eyes glowing red, hissing. JD's horrified scream echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and picking up in volume as the shout doubled in force. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and defiantly roared, at the same time the entwined left hands shot out…

"C H R I S."

It had been three hours since the Stargate had closed behind Mary Travis, or rather, Duamutef, since the Goa'uld was controlling the woman. Chris and the others had gathered their equipment as the General arranged for transport to Spain for them and Valeria. The men met in the conference room, ready to head topside to a waiting car for the short journey to the airport.

Glancing at his watch, Larabee growled, "Where's the woman? We don't have time for this." Even as he dropped his arm, the door opened and the air in the room, as well as the men, seemed to stand still.

Valeria strode into the room with the air of a leader of a great people that she had once been. Gone was the iridescent robe, replaced by a leather tunic, molded to her lithe form. Thigh high leather boots encased her surprisingly muscular legs. And on top of all this, she wore an ankle length coat that hung in panels past her hips to whip around and between her legs as she moved. Her entire ensemble was as black as her hair. The affect was breathtakingly stunning.

Seeing the expressions of astonishment of the faces of the men, she drew to her full height. "I am a warrior of Atlantis and dress accordingly. I am prepared for our quest."

No one moved for a moment until Larabee's growl broke the spell. He stomped past the woman without a glance in her direction. His action prompted a hint of a smile from the warrior leader as she ignored his exit and, instead, a twinkle sparkling in her eyes, she met the gazes of the remaining men.

"So like my husband is your Chris," she noted before spinning to follow in Larabee's wake, leaving the five men too stunned to comment.

Finally, Wilmington shook his head and started toward the door. "This is going to be one Hell of a mission." Nathan and Josiah were close on the Lt. Commander's heels.

Ezra and Vin glanced at each other, breaking into smiles. "I would venture to say that was a gross understatement."

"Yeah, ole Chris might 'a met his match. Kid would 'a got a kick outta this."

Ezra clapped a companionable hand on the Texan's shoulder as he passed, remarking, "Then we shall endeavor to commit to memory all the details to amuse him later."

With a nod, Tanner headed out.

"Impossible," the Goa'uld hissed as the host picked itself up from the floor after the strong mental thrust that pushed him away from the two men. "You are but an infant," Duamutef snarled down at the trembling younglings.

"Hey… who are… you calling… infant?" Major John Sheppard choked out. He could feel the young Special Ops agent's arms tightening around him. He leaned his head back against the boy's shoulder, looking up into his tear-stained face, "JD, you all right?"

"I'm okay, now, sir." The major could barely make out the kid's trembling voice, over the loud roaring in his head. "How are you doing, sir?"

"H urtttts," he grunted, being honest for a change. Looking around, Sheppard took in their situation. His glassy eyes snapped to the blond woman hovering over them, pointing a metal encased hand at their heads, "Travis, what the hell are you doing?"

JD pulled Sheppard tighter against his chest, forcing a moan of pain from the flyboy. "Sir, that's not Mary Travis."

"What… of course…that's Travis. She's just…off her rocker…at the moment." Sheppard blinked his weary eyes, and in a sluggish tone added, "…blonde hair...a body that… _Meus frater_ …can't wait to… get his hands on. " The major giggled, closing his eyes, his chin lowered, dipping towards his chest, "yep…Chris' woman."

JD's eyes widened at the major's words. 'Chris' woman? My brother?' The young communications expert remembered enough Latin from Sundays spent at Mass to know what the man had said. He briefly wondered what the man meant by it. Hazel eyes looked at the woman, but there was nothing of the female pilot in those eyes and JD shuddered at the total malevolence that reflected back at him. Feeling the body in his arms slip, Dunne looked down.

Sheppard struggled to stay awake for the younger soldier's sake. They were in danger, and he had to protect the kid, and the other pilot, Mary, from the demon of his childhood nightmares. His mind presence howled in outrage; he could feel the presence of the evil creature hovering over them. His mind presence continued to cry out, seeking the warm, loving protection that had saved him before, only to find a long, dark tunnel, emanating a feeling of pain, lost and denial. His mind presence doubled over in anguish from the rejection, weeping.

Sheppard's body shuddered in JD's arms; the loss of blood was taking its toll on his body and he was going into shock. His body was shutting down; he was scared and hurting, he knew he was dying; the only thing that gave him comfort was the sweet lullaby soothing his young soul. "_Matris_?" he murmured, reaching out to the bright, glowing presence that was replacing the dark, lonely tunnel.

"Major… stay with me…" The man in his arms moaned and JD saw a mere slit of green, before the eyes closed again. "Sir. She's a Goa'uld, sir…sir." JD started to panic again, the man was barely breathing. "John, stay with me…please."

"Oh… he's not going anywhere," the Goa'uld hissed. Grabbing the major's chin with his left hand, he forced the man's head up. The parasite could feel the power radiating from the Lantian and, off, floating by the gate, Duamutef could feel the presence of his uncle's arch adversary, waiting for the 'infant' to ascend. "I'm not done with you yet, infant." The snake raised his right hand, palm out.

"No…no not again." JD yelled, pulling at the air force officer.

"Stop interfering, halfling… or the infant will die and I'll take you in his place." JD stopped struggling, confused by the creature's words. Duamutef snatched the golden device from his fingers, flinging it toward the gate, and then he reached into the front pants pocket of Travis' uniform to pull out the round healing device he had retrieved from Malachi's room. Reaching back toward the dying Lantian, the Goa'uld ripped the sling off John's right arm and tore open what remained of the black undershirt and makeshift bandage, exposing the still seeping bullet wound. The Goa'uld's hand glowed as he placed it over the major's damaged shoulder and held it there until the bleeding stopped and the wound began to close.

"What are you doing?" JD whispered, awed, as he watched the wound heal.

"Saving the infant's life, you fool." Leaning back, the creature tilted Mary's head, "Remove his uniform trousers, slave."

"No… I won't help you hurt him." JD yelled, placing his chin on his friend's bare shoulder, "Please… let us go home."

"Oh halfling, you are so innocent…just like the infant. I'm going to enjoy this…" His hand reached out to stroke the boy's cheek only to have him flinch away. Once again, the Goa'uld's laugher filled the room, but the humorless noise faded quickly and Travis' features hardened, as Duamutef said, nonchalantly, "Let him bleed to death then."

The creature moved to stand, stopping only when he heard an child-like voice ask, "You'll…you'll save him?"

Kneeling back down, the Goa'uld spoke softly, as if actually speaking to a child, his child, part his, part Malachi's, "Yes, halfling, for now, I shall save your major." Chuckling, the creature watched as the young man laid the 'infant' down, and bowed his head. Slowly, the young man's pleading eyes meet Duamutef's, before turning back and pulling the pants down, revealing the major's body from waist to thigh.

"Please don't hurt him." JD whispered as the Goa'uld ran his hands along the major's wounded hip, the healing device cupped within one palm. As before, JD's confused eyes watched as the bleeding stopped and new and fresh, pink skin appeared.

"So nice," the creature said, running his fingers along the major's thigh.

"Please… don't hurt him… please I'll do anything. Just don't hurt him." JD pleaded, his body rocking back and forth.

Sheppard's body shuttered as he took in a deep breath, "Hurtts…" he moaned as his back arched off the cold floor from the fire in his lower part of his body. Confused, glassy eyes snapped open, "Get…a…way…from…me." John mentally shouted at the female running fingers down his defenseless body. "God, it hurts," John groaned, his body seizing, "Stop… please… it burns."

"What…what's happening?" JD yelled, his eyes going wide as the wound on Sheppard's lower hip reopened, scarlet liquid gushed out of the injury. Panicked, the boy slammed his hands down over the wound, pressing down hard, forcing a pitiful moan from his friend.

"The infant is fighting me," Duamutef voiced in disbelief.

"Well, do something," JD shouted back, he looked up from the gruesome sight of the major's lifeblood flowing between his fingers. Having a purpose, something to do to help the injured man, gave the youth focus and strength to fight back if only momentarily. He snapped at the monster that held them prisoner, "and stop calling him infant."

Once again, the Goa'uld placed his palm over the wound and activated the healing device. Concentrating all his power, Duamutef endeavored to heal the defiant infant Lantian. Small drops of moisture surfaced on the woman's forehead. Grinding the host's teeth, the parasite inside willed more power into the device.

John's body went into convulsions, "Help him," JD screamed at Duamutef.

"I… can… not… help… it… if the infant continues to resist," the Goa'uld yelled back, his double layered voice echoed around the room.

Keeping pressure on the wound, the boy bent over so that his mouth was next to Sheppard's ear and pleaded softly, "Please John, let her help you." JD's eyes watered at the sight of tears running down his friend's cheek, "shush, it's all right."

The pilot's body stopped its violent disturbance. Weary eyes locked onto the young ex-Delta agent and in a adolescent voice asked, "go… home… me…going home." Childlike wonder brightened his face as John's eyes once again locked onto the bright, glowing light; this time a second glowing figure appeared and he lifted his right hand, fingers reaching out to the familiar presence. "_Commodo , Volo praecessi domus. Frater, commodo take mihi domus._" The sweet lullaby of long ago filled his soul with longing. Closing his eyes, John let go and stopped breathing.

"JOHN…" JD screamed, slamming his fist down hard over the dying man's heart. Crying, the young man tilted John's head back, pinching his nose closed and gave two full breaths into his mouth. As he came up for another breath, he shouted, "I know you're in there somewhere Mary… for the love of God, help me." Not skipping a beat, he once again placed the heel of his right hand on the major's sternum; his left hand went directly on top, pressing down.

Duamutef stared back at the boy's actions. The halfling cared about the infant, his eyes darkened. Had he been going about breaking the infant in the wrong way, did the young Lantian care for the half human boy? The Goa'uld's hand shot out, grabbing JD by the throat, squeezing hard enough for the boy to cry out in pain. He held the boy away from Sheppard.

"No…stop," JD's blood covered hands pulled persistently at the fingers around his throat.

Duamutef's glowing eyes locked with the boy's, "If you want to save him, help me." The hand that was wearing the healing device griped JD's right hand and then the Goa'uld slammed both their hands down hard over the major's heart.

"I… I…" JD stuttered in shock.

"Close your eyes, halfling." JD instantly obeyed, "concentrate, and send him your strength, your will power to live, your love of life." Imitating the boy, Duamutef closed his eyes. In his mind, he could hear his host screaming in terror, fighting with determination to be released. Ignoring the female's cry, he instructed, "Call to the infant with your mind, force him to hear you."

"_Major Sheppard..." _JD called out mentally, he waited… nothing. He called again. _"John." _ The body under his hand moved. 'Did John just take a breath,' he wondered and he started to open his eyes.

"NO… Concentrate, boy." Duamutef shouted angrily. Eyes glowing, the Goa'uld added, more softly, "Halfling, you are dealing with a stubborn infant, remember that when you call to him, let him hear how angry you are with him, now call the Lantian back before he reaches Danaus."

Taking a deep breath, JD tried to remember how his mother sounded when he was in trouble and had worried her. Dunne opened his mouth and called, sharply, "John Sheppard, you answer me right now, boy." The body under his hand moved. "Front and center, young man."

"_No, you can't make me." _ A very young voice pouted back.

Duamutef squeezed JD's hand, and then spoke into his mind, "_again, call him_."

"_John, please come back_." He pleaded.

"_Don't wanta… can't…maaa.."_

"_But I can, infant…" _Duamutef snarled. Both heard the crying child scream in terror in their minds. _"Turn away from Danaus, or I will take this one for a host."_ Once again, JD found his throat being crushed, his head jerked to the side, exposing the back of his neck. Eyes open wide, the ex-Delta fought the darkness surrounding him as the Goa'uld opened his host's mouth.

'_NO!" _

"Now halfling, help me" the device in the Goa'uld's hand glowed, pressing the young man's hand down against cold skin, Duamutef used JD's ancient gene to aid the infant in healing himself. The room grew bright momentarily and then dimmed. The sound of heavy breathing echoed around the room.

JD opened his eyes slowly at the heavy sound of sobbing, "Mary?" Their hands were still locked together over the major's chest and he pulled away with a jerk and then placed his hand back on the unconscious man's chest. JD smiled as he felt Sheppard's chest moving up and down with deep, even breaths. "Thank God." He turned his attention back to the weeping woman, "Mary?"

"God JD, what's happening to me?" Mary Travis cried out, rising and staring at her blood covered hands and then looking back down at her two friends, "Oh God, the Major." Mary reached out to check Sheppard, only to have JD slap her hands away.

"Don't touch him… you did this." He could barely choke the words out through his swollen throat. "Look at him, Mary…"

Mary stumbled backwards, her hands out in front of her, warding off the sight before her eyes. JD had blood running down his arms, not seeing any wounds she could only guess that it was the major's, half of his black undershirt soaking with blood was wrapped around his right thigh. She could see the small fingerprints already turning black and blue around the young agent's neck, impressions that could only be from her hands. The blonde choked back a sob when her pale blue eyes fall upon the pilot. "Oh God, forgive me," the blood drained from her face at the sight of Sheppard's pants around his ankles. She dropped to her knees, sobbing, "tell me I didn't hurt him, oh God JD, please tell me I didn't touch him."

"Mary," JD tone softened, but he wouldn't lie to the woman. Mary's tears flowed harder at the gentle manner.

"Oh God…Chris…forgive me…" she screamed. Suddenly, Mary's body jerked. Concerned, JD reached out for her, only to have her move back, "JD, tell John… tell John, Chris cares, don't let him break. Chris will come for him." Her body shuddered again, tilting her head back, she yelled, "Run…" the boy moved in to help her, "Run, JD. For God's sake, run."

A deep resonant laugher rang around the room, and JD jumped back from the glowing eyes, "I have you now." The Goa'uld snarled.

"I don't think so." JD felt his arm being grabbed and his bulk pushed behind the swaying body of one Major John Sheppard.

Double reverberating laugher filled the air, "So you chose to resist. Excellent, infant." Tilting the host's head, the Goa'uld's eyes roamed Sheppard's body. "You may want to pull up your pants, infant." Laugher filled the air again as the major's cheeks turned bright red.

"Damn you, Travis," his body swayed as he bent over, only to turned a darker red when he felt JD help him slide his trousers over his slim hips. His fingers shook as he tried to pull up the zipper, he had to close his eyes as JD reached around and helped him finish buttoning up.

"Major, I keep trying to tell you…that is not Travis, but a Goa'uld," whispered the ex-Delta as he angled back, keeping his right hand on his friend's shoulder.

"What do you want _'worm'_," Sheppard growled, dipping his head, looking out at the Goa'uld under his eyebrows, taking a retreating step back.

"Do not call me worm, infant," Duamutef took a threatening step forward, "what I want, is you."

"Not going to happen, '_worm'_," the major snapped back. Pushing JD toward the steps, they moved backwards, away from the Goa'uld.

The thing that was Mary laughed even as she moved forward, pacing the two men as they moved away. The woman's eyes flashed white, her head lowering as the smile disappeared as she commanded, "Do not continue, infant. I grow weary of this game. Resisting will only result in more pain."

Sheppard sneered at the statement, knowing that pain was definitely in the snake's plans for the pair. Keeping the distance between them, Sheppard could not resist jabbing at the creature's ego. "Yeah, I'm on the 'A' list for a lot of people. I have tell ya though, your offer doesn't seem over appealing, so if you don't mind, my friend and me…we'll just be on our way."

John felt a hand grip his waistband as he staggered back. He turned to see JD's worried eyes watching him. "I'm okay, kid."

Taking in the bruises and pale features, JD doubted that statement but kept his opinion to himself. The young man stepped forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with the pilot. Leaning in close to the taller man, he asked softly, "So…do we have a plan?"

Cocking his head, John smiled, "We have a headache, a lot of pain, but no plan. You?"

A quick shake of the head showed the lack of any plan.

"The only plan you will need is how you will serve me, your god, infant." With that, the female moved forward quickly, slapping Dunne aside and reaching for the injured pilot.

Sheppard swatted the hand as it sought a purchase on his arm. He spun to the right, away from the woman, slipping as his leg gave way and caused him to crash to the ground. He rolled as a steel toed shoe impacted his hip, a howl of pain ripped from his throat.

JD landed awkwardly after the slap from the delivered by the Goa'uld, his head bouncing off the banister of the steps that led upward. He lay there for a moment, black spots dancing in his vision. A cry of pain from the other man had him pushing to his feet and stumbling to Sheppard's aid. Seeing the blonde with her back to him, the young tech put aside the manners he had been taught as a child and, doubling his hands, he drove his right fist deep into the unprotected back and kidney.

Duamutef roared as pain ripped through his back. Abandoning his pursuit of the pilot, he turned to confront his assailant. He reached for the shorter human but grabbed only air as Dunne dropped and rolled past him, placing himself between the Goa'uld and pilot.

"Leave him alone," the youth warned.

"Or…what, child? What will you do?"

JD hesitated, swaying slightly. Hearing movement behind him, he straightened and glared at the creature. "I…I won't let you hurt him any more." His mouth tightened in anger as laughter rang through the chamber. "You…freak," Dunne snarled as he clenched his fists, waiting.

Eyes flashing white, Duamutef charged forward. He reacted quickly as the young man threw a punch, his hand intercepting the fist that JD threw at him. A feral smile pulled at the feminine face, twisting it into a mocking distortion of the once gentle features, as pressure was applied to the captured fist.

JD's eyes narrowed, first in determination, and then turning into a pain filled grimace, as the Goa'uld's control over his host translated into power and strength. The continued pressure drove Dunne to his knees even as the sound of delicate bones cracking fought the roar of blood pounded in his ears. He whimpered as the appendage was released and he drew it close to his chest, cradling it with his other hand. Tears blurred his vision but he caught a glimpse of movement to his left and he turned to see Sheppard barrel into the woman's form, dropping them both to the ground.

Awareness came to Sheppard in the form of words of warning, angry words. He uncurled his abused form and rolled over to see JD throw a fist at the woman's face only to have it captured. By the time he pushed off the floor, the youth was on his knees. The sight flared anger in the pilot, and ignoring his own injuries and pain; he charged the possessed pilot, driving them both to the ground.

Duamutef gripped the body that rested on top of him and easily tossed it to the side. Seeing the man crash against the steps brought a smug look of satisfaction to his face. He rose to his feet and approached as Sheppard attempted to gather his feet underneath him. The Goa'uld paused for a moment, allowing the major to glance up before slamming a fist into the side of his exposed face. The man's head rocked back and his eyes rolled up as he slumped, unconscious, to the floor his head resting on the bottom step of the staircase.

Before Duamutef had time to consider his next move, he was once again struck and he staggered sideways from the blow. Anger blinded the parasite and he struck out in fury at the insolent human. It did not matter that his previous host had fathered this child; the arrogance of the two humans, daring to attack him, a god to many, was more than he could, or would, tolerate.

Backhanding the dark haired soldier, he followed the staggering figure, repeatedly striking him in the face and torso. Dunne tried to defend himself but even healthy, he was no match for the Goa'uld's strength or ferocity. Within moments, he was pushed back and forced to step off the top step that led to the lower level. His arms flew out in a failed attempt to regain his balance.

Duamutef watched as JD Stumbled and then fell down the four steps to land on the hard floor, unmoving. One eyebrow cocked up as he observed both unconscious humans. Placing a hand on each hip, his eyes moved from the humans to the open expanse of Atlantis. Turning slowly, he took in the dimly lit, quiet vastness. It started as light chuckle but the sound grew into a deep, rich laughter that filled the room and echoed down the empty halls.

Deep within the bowels of the city, the spirit of Atlantis shuddered.

Fifteen hours and forty-three minutes after taking off, the seven had landed at Air Base Moron in De La Frontera, Spain and then boarded a Sikorsky H-53 to head north and the point that Valeria had indicated as the site of the legendary Tartessos. The flight over had been a quiet affair, the noise of the military transport making conversation next to impossible. The men had used the time to rest and prepare. They weren't expecting trouble but were always ready for it.

The woman had sat apart from the others, though her eyes often found and remained on Larabee. Her heart wanted to connect with this progeny of her oldest child, but her mind knew it would only bring up long buried memories of family lost millenniums ago. She started as a form stepped between her and the blond team leader. Looking up, she found herself gazing into intense blue eyes. The man had to shout to be heard.

"I need to equip you with communications, ma'am"

Nodding her acknowledgement, Valeria watched as the man took a seat next to her. His large hands fumbled with the wires as he straightened the leads. Josiah handed the woman the earpiece and demonstrated how to put it on. As she adjusted it, he slipped the throat mike around her neck.

Flipping the power on, he asked softly, "Can you hear me?" to which the woman nodded. He then looked at the woman's clothing, trying to figure out where to attach the receiver. Finally, he looked up and grinned as he indicated that she stand. Keying his mike, he requested that she slip out of the long coat. He dropped the detached wires behind the woman's back and threaded them beneath the leather tunic at the neck and out behind her left shoulder.

"Sorry, ma'am. 'Fraid my fingers a mite big for delicate work. JD usually handles this part of the job," Sanchez stated after plugging the leads back into the receiver. He ran a Velcro strap around her waist, attached the receiver to the

belt.

J…D?" Valeria asked as she slipped back into her coat. "He is the young man

with my son.? 

"Yes, ma'am. He's our communications and electronics man."

"He is a good man?"

"They don't come any better."

She drew the coat close and reclaimed her seat as she said, "Good. He will watch over his cousin until we arrive."

The statement drew a frown of confusion from the big Marine, but he filed his curiosity away as he began to instruct the woman on the use of the receiver.

Ezra sat next to Lt. Commander Wilmington, covertly watching over the older man. Buck Wilmington was normally an extremely easy-going and jovial person, but that was a face that he displayed for the world. In truth, the mustached ex-SEAL was a very intense person. When he committed himself to a friendship, he was committed mind, body and soul. The loss of their youngest member, a young man that Wilmington had recruited, that he shared an apartment with, had greatly affected the man. More than that though, the man seemed extremely nervous, even twitchy, in the southerner's eyes. He had said no more than ten words since leaving the gate control room. Standish had appointed himself as the man's watchdog until Dunne, and with him, Sheppard, was rescued.

Nathan had gathered as much data as he could about the Gou'ald and had spent the trip to Spain studying and reviewing the text in hopes of preparing himself for what they might find when they finally reached Atlantis. He was the team's medic and, even though doctors would be coming through the gate with the team, he wanted, and needed, to be prepared himself. Laying aside the papers for a moment, he flexed his neck and glanced around, locating the others. Josiah was sitting near the woman apparently instructing her on some of the equipment. Vin was near the rear of the plane, apparently sleeping. Chris sat ramrod straight, staring out the window. Locating the last two members of the team drew a sigh of relief from Jackson. Standish would watch over Wilmington.

Chris, for his part, remained cold and remote… from the woman, and his team. He needed time to think about the revelations of the past twenty-four hours and to do that, he needed solitude. The idea that he was somehow related to this woman…to Sheppard…hell, even JD Dunne was a part of his family tree. He scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands and slumped back into the seat.

"Hey, cowboy."

Chris snorted at the nickname that Tanner had taken to calling Larabee. Keying his mike, Chris came back, "That's Mr. Cowboy, Tracer." He was rewarded with a chuckle in his ear. There were a few moments of silence. Finally, Tanner came back, asking, "So…you want to talk about it?"

Larabee slowly turned and glanced over his shoulder at the Texan as he sat slouched in his seat. Blue eyes gazed steadily at him and Chris made a decision.

"Yeah, I think so. But I think everyone needs to be in on this."

Glancing around, he silently signaled each man to put their earpieces in. Seeing everyone was ready, he began.

"Okay, boys, I'm sure you have a pretty good idea what's going on, but let's make sure that we're all on the same page." Chris slumped back into his seat, knowing that the team was listening. "Travis, Sheppard and Dunne went through the Stargate to Atlantis. You all know that SGC was planning to send a party through soon, but the power source…a ZMP…was good for only one shot. There's nothing left to power the gate to dial out to Atlantis again…no way to get our people back."

He paused a moment to see if anyone had any response and, not getting one, he continued. "Valeria claims to know the location of another ZPM and that's where we're heading now…to Spain…for another power thing."

Larabee took a deep breath and released it slowly before he stated, "It seems that John Sheppard is Valeria's son." He could almost hear the heads turning to observe the woman. "Also, she's from Atlantis. And the man that we rescued six months ago along with O'Neill and Daniel Jackson, Dr. Malachi, is…was…her brother." Again he paused. He was certain of the facts, the histories, that Valeria and Thor had revealed, but even he was finding this hard to believe.

Sitting up straight, he glanced around to the men scattered around the plane. "And JD is Malachi's son," he said slowly.

"So…Sheppard and JD are cousins?" Vin asked.

"Yes."

"And if Valeria is from Atlantis, so is her brother." This statement came from Standish.

"Right."

Nathan had moved to the seat across the aisle from Larabee. "Sheppard is an Atlantian?"

Chris shook his head, thinking he didn't blame them for being skeptical. "Yes, his father was Valeria's husband."

"But his physiology is the same as ours."

"The people of Atlantis are human, Nathan."

The medic's eyes closed as he shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, I knew that. Sorry, Chris. It's just kind 'a hard to digest all at once."

"Well, wait a minute. Is JD an Atlantian, too?"

"The boy is half Atlantian, from my brother." Valeria had stood and moved to the aisle, bracing her hands on the back of the seats on either side. "His mother was apparently someone that my brother met here."

"Ah, damn."

All eyes turned to Wilmington at the utterance. Buck sat rigid in his seat, his head pressed against the seat and his eyes closed. Finally, his blue eyes opened and sought out Larabee. "Walters said Malachi had hold of Travis and was facing Sheppard when he was shot."

Chris frowned, his eyes darting to one side as he recalled the scene in the gate room. His eyes moved back to Wilmington, an unasked question in them.

Shifting in his seat to face the blond, Buck spelled it out. "Malachi was shot in the back. Sheppard couldn't have shot him." Pausing to swallow, he finished, "It had to be JD."

Each man realized the implications of Wilmington's statement. If Dunne was the one that shot Malachi, the young communications expert had killed his own father. They all knew that fact would weigh heavy on the young man's heart.

Before any further discussion could take place, the pilot radioed that they were about to begin their descent and asked that everyone prepare for landing.

Once on the ground, no time was lost in moving to a waiting helicopter to begin the final leg of the trip. Fifteen minutes after landing at Moron, they were in the air again, heading north.

Sheppard woke with a start, his eyes flying open to stare around him, but only darkness greeted him. Blinking several times, his hands came up to gently probe around his eyes. His exploring hands found nothing-no blindfold, no bandage, no injury. The major's heart rate slowed as he realized that the darkness was not as deep as he first thought and his eyes began to make out patterns and shapes in the dim light. He could just barely make out his hand as he held it up near his face and a giddy laugh escaped. As a pilot, blindness was a nightmare that often disturbed his dreams.

After the giddiness of the moment had passed, his arms reached out in exploration of the confines of the area around him. His left arm immediately touched a wall. Moving slowly over to the wall, he stepped close, his shoulder brushing the cool material. Keeping his left arm and hand on contact with the wall, he used his right arm and leg to feel for obstacles or other walls. Within three steps, his foot brushed a second wall and his left hand found the corner created by the two walls. John followed this wall around to the next ninety degree angle which came in three more strides.

The man's breath quickened as he moved forward only to encounter the fourth wall. Judging by the length of his strides, the pilot calculated the room to about six feet square. He rubbed his hands together, drying the perspiration that dampened his palms, and began to explore the walls for an opening.

He was feeling the length of the third wall when something brushed against his hair. The man quickly raised his arm and swiped at the unseen insect feeling nothing else, he resumed his survey of the walls. Once again, something touched him, above his left ear this time. Once again his hand rose and swatted at the creature.

Sheppard reached the corner and began to investigate the last wall. He had found nothing on the other three walls and assumed that this last one would have an opening through which he might escape. Half way down the wall, he felt something scurry against his hand and he staggered back in surprise, his other hand coming up to rub the first. He knew it was nothing, knew he had suffered no injury, but the feeling of tiny feet pattering across his flesh left him with an unsettled disquiet. If only he could see, then he would not be so nervous. Chances were it was only an insect, nothing that could hurt him his brain reassured but a nagging doubt gnawed at the back of his mind.

He stood frozen for several moments, the adult side of his brain arguing with the inner child, no boogieman here, wherever here was. Finally the adult side won out and John stepped forward to finish his exploration only to step into what felt like a spider's web. He lurched back away from the sticky creation. He slapped and wiped at the offensive material, praying that the creator was not within the sticky snare.

Sheppard had never been afraid of bugs or snakes growing up, but now he felt his heart thundering within his chest. He knew the web had not been there when he stepped back and it was only moments later that had he moved forward. How could the spider have built a web in those few moments, he wondered.

A scraping noise drew his attention and he spun around in an attempt of locating the noise. As he strained to hear, he became aware of another sound, lower and farther away, a droning rumble. The scraping noise came again, once more behind him and he spun around his hands flailing about. It was when both hands slapped the walls that he realized the room was closing in on him, shrinking. In a moment of panic, he pushed against the walls, his palms slapping the unyielding material. He raised his arms to pound on the walls only to slam his fists against the ceiling as it descended.

His breath came in pants as the reality sat in. The room has half the size as before and continuing to close in on him. He was finding it hard to breathe and a soft whimper escaped his lips.

JD had watched as John's eyes rolled back and he collapsed. Travis had laughed as he strained to reach the man. His eyes rose to glare at the woman as her eyes glowed and the rumbling laughter revealed the host within her.

"Stop it," JD implored. Getting no reaction from the Goa'uld, he tried again. "You're killing 'im. He's no good to you dead."

Seeing the creature's attention on him, he continued, "If he dies, you can't use 'im as a bait. Is that what you want?"

Duamutef's expression changed, from amusement to calculating. "You fear for the infant? He only sleeps." The Goa'uld moved closer, releasing the bonds that restrained Dunne. "Go. See for yourself. Comfort him if you must."

JD hesitated. The alien had shown no mercy or remorse up to this point and he was suspicious of this new concern for his captives. But the hesitation was brief and the young man moved quickly across the room and dropped next the major.

Sheppard's eyes moved from side to side as if the man truly was in REM sleep but his features were pinched in a frown. A nightmare perhaps, JD thought to himself. He reached out and stroked the sweaty hair in an attempt to…to do what he wasn't sure. Maybe touch would awaken the man from his nightmare.

JD leaned forward to examine the seeping cut above the major's ear from contact with the floor. John's head rolled away, causing the younger man to reach out and pat the cool hand as he offered reassuring words to the unconscious form.

Sheppard drew in a sharp breath and JD sat back, waiting. When the pilot showed no further signs of waking, he leaned over again and placed a shaky hand on the slack face. Immediately, John began to thrash around. Fearing that he would injure himself further against the hard floor, JD gathered the slender form to his chest and cradled the man. John stopped flailing around but now his breath was coming in gasps and JD could feel the thundering of his heart against his palms. Hazel eyes looked up, boring into the female's pale blue orbs.

"What's wrong with 'im? He's getting worse," JD accused. "He can't take this. You'll kill 'im if you don't stop. Stop NOW," he yelled.

Once again the Goa'uld laughed as he towered over the men.

"I am doing nothing. He has made his own prison…a prison of dreams and nightmares." The creature leaned in close, "A prison he has constructed of all that he knows and feels...all that he fears."

Sometime in the tone caused the youth to stare at the man in his arms and he suddenly realized that his embrace was the reason for Sheppard's distress. He quickly, but gently, released the man, laying him back on the floor. Instantly, John's breathing settled into a shallow but more normal rhythm. He wanted to feel the major's wrist and check his pulse but feared causing another attack of panic in the man. Instead he settled for looking up into the glowing eyes. His youthful face took on a look of disgust as he studied the smug look of satisfaction on Mary's possessed features.

"Bitch," he spat out. "You knew. You knew what would happen if I touched 'im."

JD rose to his feet as he spoke, his hands clenched into fists. He stepped around the prone form and took two steps forward before stopping. Realizing he was picking a fight he couldn't win, he drew in a deep breath and released it…and the fury…together. He held the glare a moment longer and then returned to Sheppard's side.

Lowering himself down, he squatted with his legs tucked under his body and his forearms supporting his weight. Softly, he spoke to the injured man.

"John? Hey, it's me…JD. You're okay; this…this is all a dream…just a dream. You just need to wake up and everything will be fine. Just relax and open your eyes for me, okay? It's all a dream."

JD continued to talk softly, all the time praying that he was getting through to his friend and not creating more havoc in the major's dream world.

John wanted to cry out but dared not waste the breath, there was too little and it was too precious. Suddenly, he became aware of the walls and ceiling moving away, the room expanding, and he dropped to his knees, shuddering in relief.

As he crouched down, his arms wrapped around his waist, the droning sound began again. This time though he made out snatches of words, phrases. His head came up as he listened. He knew the voice, understood the words.

'JD?' he thought.

"…_all a dream….wake up…'_

Sheppard's head whipped around as he sought out the younger man's position. He called out, "JD?"

At the mumbled sound of his name, Dunne risked touching the bare arm of Major Sheppard, "Yeah, John, it's me. Can you open your eyes?"

He held his breath as the man's eyelids pried themselves open, closed, fluttered and then opened once again. A moment later, the green eyes moved sluggishly around the room and came to rest on Dunne. A smile split the haggard face.

"Hey, you did it"

John's jaw worked back and forth for a moment and then he smacked his lips as he worked up the moisture in his mouth.

"Hey, kid."

The two men studied each other, the bruises and cuts, healing wounds and gaunt features and they smiled. A slight nod of acknowledgement came from both men. They had been through hell, would go through more in all likelihood, but they would survive. A vow had been made and neither man intended to let the other down.

The flight took twenty minutes. The two helicopters, a second one carrying a squad of Marines at the base commander's insistence, landed at the coordinates that Valeria had provided. Larabee had the marines secure the area around the helicopters and stand watch over them while his team and the woman set out on foot for the foothills and the ZPM.

Ten minutes later, they stood in front of a mountainside, covered with foliage, but no sign of any building or settlement, not even a cave or a crater, that might conceal the power module.

"You sure this is the place?" Larabee snarled.

Valeria cocked one brow at the man, a smile playing at her lips. "Yes," she stated confidently. Separating herself from the men, she moved forward slowly, studying the rock face. After a few moments, her hand came up and traced a faint outline on the rock face. The decades of dirt and corrosion fell away to reveal the hieroglyphics beneath. Without any hesitation, her palm pressed one and then another of the impressions for a sequence of eight. For a moment nothing happened, but then a rumbling sound caused the men to glance around and their eyes were drawn to the door that appeared in the mountain side, sliding back amid a cascade of dirt and foliage.

"Well, I'm impressed," Sanchez muttered to himself.

Entering the cavern, Valeria paused to wait on the men following her and spreading out across the wide opening. Torch lights were lit to illuminate the room and the men gazed into the expanse that the strong beams of light revealed.

"Just how long were your people here?" Larabee questioned.

Stressing the first word, the woman replied, "Our people were here for many months, preparing the land for our arrival. Danaus and Discordia, my son and his mate," she informed, "they were schedule to go through the gate a weekbefore my brother and I. We were to meet and live out our lives here, hopefully in peace. My son was looking forward to the birth of his brother."

Valeria's eyes flicked to Chris, a sadness reflecting in them that the man could understand and relate to, knowing the loss of a child himself. For the first time, the man saw the 'woman' beneath the 'warrior', and with a slight incline of his head, he acknowledged her pain. The gesture brought a wistful smile to the woman's face.

Pointing out the direction, Valeria allowed Larabee to lead the way as they moved deeper into the cavern.

Twenty minutes passed and the group had ventured several hundred yards into the cool blackness. Progress was slow as they studied the items that lined the walls as well as several chambers off to either side of the passage.

"Here." The woman's voice drew all the men to her side. They watched as she placed her hand on another hidden trigger and released a small gate that slowly dropped to reveal the ZMP. Smiles broke out in the group. They now had the power to go after their teammates.

Ezra had been standing close and his hand reached out to touch the glowing module.

"No," the woman barked.

Pulling his hand back, Standish bowed slightly. "My apologizes. I fear I was enthralled to the point of insolence on my part by the object."

"It is not that. There is a safeguard built into the chamber that prevents any

non-Atlantian from removing the power module. I did not wish you harmed."

"My most heartfelt thanks, madam." Ezra stepped back and strived to not draw any more attention to himself, ashamed of his lack of control. The gem-like module just seemed to speak to him, there had been no conscious thought when he reached out. A presence at his shoulder had him turning slightly and he found himself staring into Josiah's blue eyes.

Grinning, Sanchez laid a gentle hand on the southerner's shoulder. "It is a captivating sight, is it not?" Leaning in close, he spoke softly as he said, "I can almost hear it singing a siren's song to me."

Standish shook his head. He knew that Josiah was offering him a gracious way of wiggling off that hook he had grasped. Standish took the offer and said softly, "You also, my friend?"

With a chuckle, the two men turned back as the woman extracted the ZMP. Turning, she slipped it into a cloth pouch that Wilmington was holding open. Drawing the pouch closed, she took possession of it, holding it close for a moment and then held it out to Larabee.

Chris nodded and took the pouch. Turning, he opened his mouth to speak when the air seemed to shimmer around them. Everyone stepped back as a beam of light appeared in the middle of the group and morphed into a figure. Several pairs of eyes stared at the holographic figure before turning to Larabee and back again.

"Mother."

Valeria stepped forward, a bittersweet smile on her face, her hand extended toward, but did not touch the image of her son.

"I have coded the computer to activate should you or my uncle find your way home. Discordia and I searched through the years for you both." As the man spoke, the image of a woman materialized at his side. They were an elegant couple, slim and erect in their old age.

Valeria's hand came to her mouth as she gazed on the couple. They were so aged. She had missed both of her children's lives. Her youngest had been raised by strangers in a strange land, while her eldest had children, raised them and grew old without her.

"I want you to know that we have lived long and full lives. We have tried to maintain the laws and traditions of our people. We have prospered…both as a people and as a couple. Our lives have been good. My only regret is that I do not know what happened to you, Mother. I often wondered about my young sibling. I felt that it was a male child. I hope that he brought you much joy and happiness through the years. My one true regret was never knowing him."

The man looked at the woman next to him, both smiling, sadly. Turning back, Danaus continued. "Our time is done now. I hope to someday see you again. Until then, be well."

The image disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Valeria stood quietly, her back to the men, her face hidden by the long black mane. Her hand rose to her face briefly and after a swipe, she turned back to the men.

"We should be going. The general is waiting."

Not waiting for an answer, she spun around and headed back down the cavern passage.

Chris glanced at the others. With a shrug, he handed the ZMP to Standish. "You take care of that. Stay in the middle. Sanchez, bring up the rear."

The men stepped out, following Larabee as he trailed behind the woman. Valeria was fifty yards ahead, clearing the entrance moments before the men. Chris increased his pace as the woman stepped into the sunlight and disappeared from view.


	7. Chapter 7

He was soaring high about the white snow covered mountain tops. He was free… free from pain…free from the deep feeling of loneliness. John stretched his wings, and each beat was slow and measured- an elegant show of dignity. The wind currents dictated his path. His head and tail projected equally beyond his broad wings, held rigid and flat in flight. A soft, slightly hysterical chuckle escaped his lips… he was flying, and he had a white tail.

His arms, stretched out to each side, were his wings; his long legs, tucked together, served as his tail. He was truly free, lost in the freedom of the sheer joy of flight. John played, gliding this way and that, skyrocketing to the heavens then flipping and diving toward the ground before soaring away to skirt around the majestic mountaintops at high speeds; faster and faster he went until he collapsed in exhaustion.

Dark, wild hair hung down from John's tilted back as his head faced the sky, his limp body hovered inches above the ground, much like a puppet suspended from a string, an old worn out toy that some child had grown weary of and discarded. He forced deep breaths of clean, fresh air into his lungs to try and settle the turmoil in his mind.

He knew he was hiding, running away, detaching himself from the pain and horror of what was happening to his body in the real world. He heard his name whispered on the wind, calling him back from his quiet place. He closed his eyes and pressed his palms against his ears, shutting out the voice that was trying to draw him away from his sanctuary. 'His home,' John thought, chuckling despairingly; he'd never had a home, not like most kids, with happy parents who loved him.

He had only this imaginary home to escape to when things spiraled down that dark, painful path. One minute he would be in pain, the next would find him on a quiet, exclusive mountain range surrounded by water for miles around; he would image he was an eagle, flying high above, and sometimes… sometimes… as he soared the heavens, he would look down through the clouds to see a group of towering peaks surrounded by swirling mists, and with an eagle's vision, he would watch as a floating city materialized out of that mist. John would spend hours circling the tall spires; wings angled back against his body, he would dive toward the calm ocean, dipping his large yellow talons into the cool water, and then his wings would catch the airstreams to lift him high above the peaks, only to start all over again.

Sometimes, John would hear a woman's soft voice, singing a song, a child's lullaby that wrapped him in warmth and love, drawing him into a peaceful slumber. How he needed to hear her voice again.

Suddenly his body jerked forward, and John felt the painful tingling sensation of returning awareness running up and down his numb arms. He fought against the distant voice whispering his name; he didn't want to go back…he couldn't go back.

"Ah… you are finally awake, my pet." Duamutef uttered as he ran his finger down Sheppard's cheek, caressing the soft skin. "I was growing weary of waiting." The Goa'uld grabbed a handful of dark hair and pulled back, hard, "Do not distance yourself again, infant, or I may have to turn my attention to your friend." Duamutef twisted his captive's face toward a dark corner of the room.

"You son of a bitch," Sheppard choked between dry, cracked lips. He could barely make out the outline of Dunne's body, held suspended by chains that imprisoned his arms and legs, the limbs stretched out against the walls. Hazel eyes locked together and John had to turn his face away in shame, not wanting to see the look of hurt seep into JD's face at his betrayal, and desertion. "I promise… I promise…don't hurt him because of me." A single tear escaped red swollen eyes to trail down a black and blue cheek, "God, I'm sorry, kid. I won't go away again. I… I won't leave you here alone."

JD struggled against his chains; arching his back away from the wall, he choked back his anguished cries. "John… John…" JD desperately called out to the man suspended in the middle of the room. Sheppard was a mess, his arms were tied behind his back; a thick rope was attached to John's swollen wrists and then draped over a hook attached to the ceiling. The Goa'uld had pulled the rope taut, leaving the major suspended by his arms, his feet dangling inches off the floor.

JD called out again, "John… look at me." But the major refused to meet his eyes. Instead, he lowered his head until his chin touched his naked chest, mumbling unintelligibly, his body language submissive to the Goa'uld as he awaited the next round of torture.

JD began to panic; he was losing Sheppard, the older man was giving in to the pain. He banged his head against the wall, in rhythm with Sheppard's defeated muttering. How long had he been hanging? Hours? Days? JD couldn't remember. Panicked, JD realized that he was losing track of time. He tried to remember all that happened since their abduction.

He remembered screaming until his throat was raw; remembered struggling against the chains; remembered shouting at the top of his lungs as Duamutef stripped the major of what was left of his black undershirt, leaving the unconscious man's torso bare; he continued screaming his outrage until he hyperventilated and finally, blessedly, passed out. The Goa'uld's voice drew JD's attention back toward the middle of the room.

"Good, you are both awake," Duamutef laughed hauntingly. "Shame on you for sleeping through the last experiment, child. The infant begged for your help until his throat was raw. He became quite upset when I told him that you had abandoned him, returning to your friends through the Stargate. Poor thing, he cried himself to sleep," he told JD nonchalantly as he walked over to what looked like a medicine cabinet.

Duamutef glanced over his shoulder at his victim's bloated stomach; he sniffed the air and curled his lip at the stench coming from the major. One more dose and the _'infant'_ should be ready for the next phase of preparation. He reached in, taking out a glass tube filled with a pale blue liquid. Duamutef swirled the blue fluid around before pouring it into a large glass. He sat the vial down and reached back into the cabinet, grabbing another vial, this one golden in color. Picking up the glass, Duamutef held it out in front of him as he slowly poured half of the golden fluid into the glass.

As the Duamutef turned to face Sheppard, JD's shoulders tensed at the evil expression on the Goa'uld's face as he glided over to his victim. "Open your mouth, infant, time for your medication again," he demanded, holding the glass up to the major's lips.

The major jerked his head from side-to-side, keeping his mouth clenched shut. His face reddening, Sheppard closed his eyes in shame at the odor coming from his lower body from the seepage of his already strained stomach. He felt Duamutef grab his jaw and John silently cried as the Goa'uld shoved his thumb inside his lips, forcing clenched jaws apart.

John tried unsuccessfully to spit out the cool, thick liquid the Goa'uld was pouring down his throat. "Oh, no you don't." Duamutef snickered, violently shoving the major's head backwards by his dark hair, clamping the man's mouth shut with his other hand. The substance soon hit his inflamed stomach, turning it sour once again and he doubled over, retching.

Duamutef's hauntingly double layered chuckle echoed around the small room and his eyes flashed white, amused at the panicked, tear-filled eyes on his victim as his body betrayed him with uncontrollable bowel movements, "Good, good… you are feeling the effects of the sugary milk," he told his victim as the major stopped struggling against his hold to hang limp, guilt-ridden and shamed, his world shattering at the humiliation.

JD continued to struggle against the chains, feeling helpless and powerless to help his friend. The opaque metal chafed his bare chest and left irritated, raw skin on his wrists and ankles as well. Breathing hard, JD called out to his friend again, "John, don't you dare give up. Chris is coming; he won't leave us here, not like this. Damnit John, look at me." But the pilot refused or was incapable of turning his head toward him.

"John, you know that Chris has abandoned you, just like he did before, when you called to him." Duamutef whispered into the major's ear. "The mighty warrior has no time to waste on a pitiful, weak excuse of a child playing warrior." The Goa'uld ran a pale, slender finger of his host down Sheppard's exposed chest, all the way to his belly button. "Your family has forsaken you, left you alone on a world full of vipers. They cast your newborn body out as yesterday's garbage," Duamutef's voice was low, gentle, but his words clawed through John's soul. The parasite swirled his finger around the pale navel, feeling his victim's body tremble. Eyes glowing white, Duamutef lowered his head, and soon his lips followed the same path of his finger, leaving a trail of wet saliva.

"You taste like honey, my infant," his lustful voice sent tremors down both soldiers spine. Duamutef's eyes glowed brighter as he looked up into red, watery eyes of his victim. He could not resist those sulky red lips of his infant, calling to him. He violently gripped the major's hips, leaving finger impressions in the pale flesh, pulling him toward the host's body; he locked their lips together. The major's body thrashed about as Duamutef ravished the boy's mouth.

"You bitch… leave him alone… stop it… you fucking BITCH!" the boy chained to the wall yelled at the top of his lungs. This was bad…so very bad, JD thought to himself. "Chris is going to kick your ass… then reach down and pull your maggotbreathed, slimy butt out of the woman he loves." JD was on a roll and, invigorated, continued rambling, "and… and that's just the start of what he'll do to you if you put your perverted hands on John again." Pulling away from the wall in rage, the metal bit further into JD's flesh, blood ran from his wrists, streaking his arms and sides with red lines, "Hey maggotbreath, I'm talking to you."

Duamutef stood back from the major, his host's body taking in deep breaths; he turned to lock his glowing eyes on the irritating boy chained to the wall. His tongue flickered out, wetting his host's thin, pink lips seductively, "You will be most helpful, my boy." The Goa'uld released his grip on John's hips, leaving the soldier's body swaying back and forth.

"Why are you doing this?" JD yelled at the retreating Goa'uld, confused as to why the snake was torturing them. The alien hadn't even asked them any questions and he was getting sick and tired of the Goa'uld calling Sheppard 'his infant'. The soldier was in his middle thirties for crying out loud, not a toddler in diapers.

"Because I can, child," Duamutef told him as he walked back over to the medicine cabinet. This time both of his hands shuffled the jars and bottles around until his eyes found what he was looking for. The Goa'uld pulled out a large round jar, opening the lid; Duamutef brought the jar up to his nose to smell the contents. Snickering, he dipped two fingers into the thick, syrupy, golden substance, rolling it between his fingers as he walked back toward his prey.

"What are you up to, maggotbreath?" JD screamed, as Duamutef rubbed the golden gel over Sheppard's face. "What is that stuff?" The younger boy continued to demand.

Duamutef, eyes narrowed, grinned as he bent down and whispered into Sheppard's ear, "No matter what happens, infant, do not disassociate yourself… or the boy will take your place. And his suffering will be greater than anything you have gone through. Or even imagine." His voice lowered, "Do you understand me, my infant?" Duamutef smiled at the defeated nod of Sheppard's head.

"John… John… don't listen to the maggotbreath; he's lying; whatever he's saying is a lie; everything coming out of that mouth is a lie." JD screamed at his friend. He closed his eyes hoping to stop the tears from running down his checks. "John, please don't listen to him, do whatever you have to do to survive this nightmare. Don't worry about me… I'll… I'll be okay. Please, John."

"Oh, you will be okay, my child." JD's eyes snapped open wide to find the Goa'uld was standing right in his face. "I command your help, child." Duamutef demanded as he released the chains around the boy with a flicker of his wrist.

"No. No. I won't help you." JD whispered as his body slid down the wall to land on his backside.

"You will help me or I'll…"

JD cut the Goa'uld off. "Do what you want with me, I won't help you hurt my friend," JD choked out, rubbing at his raw wrists. "Why are you doing this?" he asked again. Looking up, his hazel eyes pleaded for a reason for all the pain and suffering the two of them were going through.

Duamutef squatted down, eye level with the boy, searching the child's face. This boy, this innocent child was a part of him. He would never permanently hurt him. He snickered. Not that he would tell the youth that; no, that was information the child could use against him. Hiding his amusement, the Goa'uld whispered softly, "You will help me, or I'll do what you both fear the most… I'll rape the major in front of you and then force you to do the same."

"No…no…I wouldn't," the boy's body shuddered.

"You will…if that is what it takes to break my infant." The Goa'uld's eyes grew brighter, "Yes, Sheppard is my infant now, and you have made sure of that. Each time you panic, you call out his guardian's name, this 'Chris'." The image that appeared in Duamutef's mind slowly merged with his memory of another Lantian, Danaus. "I know now who the infant's guardian is; this woman belongs to him, and has been attempting to hide his face from me. Oh, it is so very sweet; you, and now she, have betrayed him and my infant."

"I would never do that." JD groaned, gently swinging his head side to side in denial.

Taking no notice of the boy huddled at his feet, the Goa'uld eyes flashed in anticipation of the confrontation with his infant's guardian; they would be coming, the two guardians, and with the guardian, would come the infant's mother. Yes, this Chris Larabee will be a challenging opponent. "In fact, you have already helped me." The Goa'uld explained. "Each time you call out to this Chris, you remind Sheppard of his mother's abandonment, and reinforce his feeling of betrayal from the one who should be protecting him."

"Chris would never betray John," JD angrily replied.

"Then where is he?" the Goa'uld smiled.

"He's coming," JD said faithfully, his trust and allegiance to Larabee was as strong as his religious beliefs. Chris Larabee was coming, no maggotbreath Goa'uld, was going to take someone away from the tall blond. Not and walk away without a little blood being drawn by the volatile team leader.

"You have been in my hands for two months, now." Duamutef glanced around the room, hands out in question. "I do not see him," he said sarcastically.

"You…you're lying. We haven't been here that long; you're lying," the boy murmured in confusion, "only a day…two…at the most. You're lying, you got to be lying."

"You are positive?" Duamutef's eyes flashed, and he spoke harshly, his double layered voice vibrated through JD's confused mind. "Take another look at my infant, and tell me again how long he has endured his torment."

JD took a closer look at Sheppard's body. His face and chest was covered in bruises and Dunne had to assume that John's arms were dislocated, judging by the way he was hanging. From the odor, the pilot had developed severe diarrhea from the liquid he had been forced to ingest. But what scared the ex-Delta soldier the most, was the vacant stare emanating from his friend's hazel eyes. As if John could feel the young man's eyes on him, dazed hazel eyes sluggishly refocused on the younger man and shined with flakes of gold, dark eyelids descended twice, before the major's weary eyelids closed and did not open again.

"You're lying, maggotbreath." JD's eyes twinkled at Sheppard's lop sided grin. Only two days held in capture, the major was still with him.

'Ah, the infant was still awake,' Duamutef observed, his child and the infant were gaining strength from each other. This would definitely not do. The Goa'uld's eyes narrowed in thought before he spoke again, "You heard my infant's cry back on Earth." He paused, watching the child shake his head in denial, "Yes. You felt his fear…his pain… when I shot him. Do not deny it. You came running into the gateroom…desperate…out of breath…charging to the rescue. But you are not his guardian."

"No…no, I… I… was just wandering around the base. I heard the gunfire." JD stared into Mary's pale blue eyes, confused in the change in attack.

"Deny your heritage all you want, child. You heard a Lantian infant in distress and you came running to protect that child." Duamutef raised his voice, making sure it carried to his infant, "But my infant's guardian…He also heard my infant call out in terror. He should have beaten down the doors to reach his charge, but what did he do? This Chris Larabee turned his back, abandoning the one who was destined to become his younger brother."

"No… Chris wouldn't do that. You're lying," JD yelled back at the Goa'uld, but he couldn't stop the tears from running down his face. His idol, the man he looked up to most, would never turn his back on anyone in trouble, especially a child. The young man's eyes snapped to the soldier hanging in the middle of the room, his eyes brows went up. Memories of Sheppard's first day played out in his mind, the horsing around, the playful teasing, getting into trouble, Larabee staring the major down as the pilot pouted like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was as if the major had found his place in life and was starting to open up.

"Yes… now you understand," Duamutef snickered, "Major John Sheppard is a Lantian infant, the youngest son born into the oldest and most powerful Ancient warrior clan." The Goa'uld reached out and grabbed JD's face, "Even you, my child, have the Ancient warrior blood; not as strong as my infant, but you have the royal bloodline of Lucetius running through your veins. Now, stand up, it is time break my infant." The Goa'uld released his grip on the boy and backed off, allowing JD to stand on wobbly legs.

"If this is true, why don't you just take John as a host? That's what you want, right? To possess an Ancient body? What's stopping you? Why this extended torture?" the Delta asked. Frantically, JD searched his knowledge about the parasites. Not even Jack O'Neill could stop a Goa'uld from taking a host… so what did this Goa'uld desire? Someone else? JD's voice had hitched as he remembered the Goa'uld's frustration at the major's defiance, but still, why torture him? JD knew from his advanced Delta training that the Goa'uld was attempting to undermine and destroy John's belief of his validity as a human being, using humiliation, both physical and mental with sadistic glee; attempting to demolish the unspoken trust he and John had in each other.

Deep down, JD knew the snake was telling the truth about John and him being related. They shared the same color of eyes, the same bone structure. The snake was going to use their blood relationship; a relationship that otherwise, ultimately, could save the major, to destroy him. "Kill me now. I won't help you destroy a good man."

"You have already helped shatter his soul, my child." Duamutef stated

JD searched his mind for some reason behind the physical and mental torture John was going through. What was the Goa'uld after? A thought stuck him suddenly and JD snapped his head toward his silent friend. The major was an Ancient, and the Ancients were telepathic, right? JD had felt the strength of John's mind as it intertwined with his that first time when they had called out for Chris' help; now, he felt that strength within himself once again. 'Okay, I'm half Ancient,' he thought. Hope filled JD's eyes for the first time in two days as he concentrated on sending one word, mind to mind, _"JOHN."_

The major's body jerked, forcing a groan of pain from swollen lips, fire blazed in the eyes as they snapped open, locking onto JD as he shook his head, refusing to answer back in kind. "John's the bait. Who are you really after?" JD's smile widened, revealing the white teeth, as he added, "…maggotbreath." His lopsided grin matched the major's as he sought to goad the creature into focusing on him for a while and allow the major a brief respite.

"Be careful in what you call me, my child," Duamutef said angrily, his voice carried over his shoulder as he added, "This knowledge will not save you, my infant. The old one is hovering, awakening, waiting for _Dux_ of Antiquitas to return. Can you feel her, my infant? Minerva is confused, sensing the bloodline of Lucetius, sensing an infant abandoned by its mother."

"Stop telling him that he was abandoned by his mother," demanded JD. Lowering his voice and speaking softly as if to a young child, Dunne offered, "John, you know there had to be a good reason why your mother left you. Maybe… maybe she was ill like my mother, and died." The young man's eyes watered at the memory of his mother's death. "You're not alone anymore, you have Chris to look after you now and… and… Buck and I will be there to help… and… and… there's the others. Vin… you like Vin, right. He talks more once you get to know him, and then there's Ezra, he can teach you to play cards and win," JD edged closer to the man suspended in the middle of the room as he spoke. "And Nathan, he'll look after you when you're sick. Oh, we can't forget Josiah, he'll pick you up when you're hurt and keep you safe even as he's whispering soothing words to your soul."

Matching tracks of tearstains ran down the two soldier's cheeks. "Please John, hold on… I know in my heart Chris is coming, he heard us… he heard us, just hang on a little while longer and we'll go home."

JD watched as the major silently mouthed, 'Home, want to go home… to family.'

"We are wasting time. Refuse to obey, child and it will not be you that suffers. You will only prolong my infant's pain. Decide what you will do, quickly." Grabbing JD by the scruff of his neck, the Goa'uld propelled him further across the room to stand in front of Sheppard's limp body. "Do not speak; only do what you are told." Duamutef pulled Dunne around to look into his eyes, "Failure to follow my command, child, will only lead to more suffering. Do you understand?"

He waited until the young man nodded his head in compliance. "My infant, open up those pretty eyes of yours." Duamutef gently patted John's sticky, gel-covered cheek until he saw a slit of green under the dark eyelashes. "Remember our little chat about hiding, my infant," he warned, pulling JD into Sheppard's line of vision.

John's dazed eyes opened fully as he took in the Goa'uld unspoken threat. The implied violence to the younger man fueled Sheppard's resolve and he called on his remaining reserves to taunt the creature yet again, "Leave him out of this, you bitch." The black of Sheppard's eyes dilated, "Or is that bastard? I can't seem to be able to decide. I could call you snakehead; oh…but I just remembered…that one is taken, so I'll just call you maggotbreath," he smirked, his voice raspy from screaming. His vision cleared enough to see JD's face, "Hey, kid," the smile on his lips never reached his eyes, "long time, no see, you okay? Love the new name. 'Maggotbreath'. I couldn't 'a come up with one better… done good, kid," Sheppard looked out under his dark eyelashes, and not liking the look in the kid's hazel eyes, asked, "JD?"

"Here, my child, help me rub this gel over the major." Duamutef held out the open jar of golden gel toward JD. At his hesitation, the Goa'uld's eyes flashed white in anger. JD grabbed the jar, and started rubbing the sticky gel on John's chest before Duamutef could finish raising his hand in the act of hitting Sheppard across the face, "good, good."

"JD?" John asked. Confused, he jerked his chest back as the sticky syrup was rubbed across his shoulder blades and down his back. He shivered as JD silently circled around him, continuing to apply the sticky substance to his exposed skin. JD took a step away from the trembling body of his friend and stood without a sound next to the possessed female pilot. "What…what are you doing, kid?" JD's shoulders slumped at the turmoil that laced John's questions.

Dunne jerked away from the voice so close at his shoulder, "Child, you are not finished." The young man snapped his head around to stare at the Goa'uld; in one hand, he held a much larger jar of gel, and in the other… in the other was a long, narrow knife, the type a hunter would use to gut his kill. The young soldier could not help but wonder where the two items had come from.

"The gel must be rubbed all over the infant's body. Remove the rest of the major's clothing." The light reflected off the raised knife, instantly sending JD into action.

JD's fingers shook as he placed them on the major's belt; it took him a couple of tries before he could release the buckle. The kid didn't know who was shaking more, Sheppard or himself.

"JD… what… what are you doing," Sheppard demanded to know, jerking back when he felt the kid's hands on his fly, pulling the zipper down. "Answer me damnit."

Remaining silent as instructed, JD gently placed his hands on John's waistband and slowly rolled the trousers past the major's slim hips, past his knees and down to his ankles, leaving the soldier trembling in his underpants. JD closed his eyes, turning his nose away from the stench of Sheppard's earlier weakness. He felt the Goa'uld's hot breath against his ear as the parasite whispered, "Quickly, before I become restless." Once again, the knife in the Goa'uld's hand spurred him on and he ripped the gray underpants down to join the major's trousers, pooling around rope-captured ankles.

Tears ran down JD's face as the Goa'uld handed him the jar. He could only shut his eyes as John cried out as his gel covered hands coated the older man's hips. The major's body bucked away as JD continued, rubbing the syrup down both thighs to his ankles. Next, JD rubbed the golden gel between the major's trembling legs, and then circled around and dropped to his knees, head lowered to his chest as one hand quickly covered the major's bare buttocks; he held the other hand to his heart, rubbing as it broke and shattered in empathy for the other man and the indignation that he was being forced to endure.

Never once did JD look up at the major as he continued to smear the gel over Sheppard's naked body; the thought of that long knife gutting the pilot kept him going until the jar was empty. He was squatted in front of his friend, absorbed in covering his feet with the gel when Atlantis' lights flickered on and off.

The Goa'uld's double layered voice snapped JD's eyes open, looking up, "Infant… remember your promise, no retreating." The young man raised a gel covered hand to his mouth, tasting the sweet honey that coated the back of his hand, stopping his cry of outrage, at the sight of his friend's eyes. Once full of mischief, the hazel eyes of the major were now dull, lifeless.

Sheppard blinked, his wet eyelashes shimmered in the flickering light as he stopped himself from withdrawing. "Pro mmmisse…" John stuttered through trembling lips, "donnn' t hhurrrrrtt the kidddddddd. Dooooooo yooouurrr wwwwooorsstttttt, mmmmmagggggotbbbbbbrrrrreath."

JD's face was ashen as his tears flowed openly. Even now, the major was trying to protect him. Ashamed, the young man turned his face away from the sight of the major's naked body.

"Nooottt, youuuuuuuuurrrrr faulttttttt. Mmmmagggggotbbbbbbrrrrreath mmaadeee youuuu JJJJDDDDDD. Myyyyyyyy ffaullltt, nnnnnottt sstttttrronnng eennoougggggghhh. Pllllllleeeassse lllllooooooookk aatt mmmeee," John's face was red under the golden gel, but he never took his eyes off his friend.

JD turned and locked eyes with the major, and mouthed at the same time he sent telepathically, _'hold on, Chris is coming.'_

"Hoooooollllllldddd onnnnnnnn," John stuttered.

"No…no this just will not do." Duamutef grabbed Dunne by his hair, pulling him backward, toward the door. "Keep your eyes on me, my infant," the major's eyes widened at the sight of a very sharp knife being held against JD's throat. "Remember your promise."

Swallowing his desire to vomit, John nodded his head, gluing his hazel eyes on the Goa'uld as he pulled JD out the doorway and sealed it shut. Keeping his body still, Sheppard's eyes never left the door until he heard a sharp clicking noise.

The clicking grew louder; he was not alone in the room. Sheppard caught motion out of the corner of his left eye; his breathing was fast and shallow as he watched the creature move from the shadows. Glowing red eyes caught his attention and he stared as a long-legged, black spider, the size of a small, yappy terrier inched toward him. A buzzing noise soon emanated around the chamber, accompanying the sounds of clicking and then, more movement. John's eyes locked on the biggest spider. With each step, the arachnid's long, delicate legs clicked against the floor until it reached the trousers pooling around his ankles. John sucked in a deep breath, clenching his mouth closed to stop the scream of terror as the spider began to climb his left leg, clawing its way up and latching onto his bare hip. Blood ran down John's leg from the deep cuts left by the spider's sharp pinchers.

Soon, more spiders and insects of all sizes appeared from the shadows. Attracted by the smell of blood and odor of the sweet honey, they encircled the major's body. John's eyes turned back to the doorway, knowing the Goa'uld was holding JD at knifepoint. He couldn't cry out, not at the risk of Dunne being hurt; he hadn't cried out when the first spider sunk its sharp pinchers in the flesh on his hip, he could hold out, suck it up, be tough as the old man used to say. The major chewed his bottom lip until it bled as the insects bit and stung his exposed flesh, but never cried out.

JD lowered his head against the door, his fists pounding the cold surface in frustration. "Goddammit, let go of me," the young man yelled over his shoulder at the Goa'uld, no longer caring about his own life as John's silent cries of terror and pain echoed in his mind, "What are you doing to him?"

"Would you like to see?" Duamutef pulled JD back from the door as it slid open, revealing a dark, moving mass covering Sheppard's body, eating and licking at the honey syrup. Blood soaked the major's trousers and the surrounding floor.

Sheppard remained silent as the arachnids continued to gouge out chucks of his flesh, chewing on skin and muscle along his leg. John fought the buildup of growing horror, knowing if he looked down he would see the white of his femur. Pain filled his being as he was eaten alive, he wanted to yell, scream at the top of his lungs for it to stop. His body jerked involuntary forward, as an insect bit into his right buttock. John's stomach rebelled; he clenched his mouth shut, knowing if he puked, slimy, slippery, crawling invertebrate of all sizes would enter his mouth.

John's eyes snapped open wide in terror as something large and slimy slithered between his legs. A bloodcurdling cry of terror vibrated around the chamber and Sheppard's stomach muscles reacted violently with a series of contractions as his mouth filled with bugs. This time when his stomach rebelled, John did not try to stop the contents of his stomach from escaping. He barely heard the double layer voice speaking softly to him, "my infant, I can help you. Just reach out with your mind and I shall save you from this terror."

He only had to reach out, John's dark covered head lowered; he was exhausted, cold and terrified out of his mind. His soul was weary of fighting, weary of repeatedly being abandoned by the ones who were supposed to protect him. No one would care if he just let go. His real mother deserted him at birth. His foster father had convinced a young John that it was his fault that Maria Sheppard had died, stepping between man and child, taking the blow meant for the three year old. Uncle George had turned his back on him, grieving his sister's death, relinquishing baby John into a crazed Colonel Norman Sheppard's control.

His life had tumbled into a continuous nightmare, one event after another, until Uncle George had finally came to his rescue, and helped him enter the Air Force Academy and fulfill his dream of flying. He was happy for a while, until the Colonel reentered his life, turning it into a living hell, turning and twisting John into his ideal of a perfect soldier.

It took awhile, but he got away from the Colonel again after the incident in Afghanistan, and with the help of General George Hammond, John found himself buried in the wastelands of McMurdo, loving the remoteness, the isolation. He was satisfied with his life, he kept telling himself, he was flying, and that was all that mattered. That all changed six months ago after he received a call requesting a favor, just one little favor, and John couldn't refuse. Dammit he was happy alone in the cold wasteland; for the first time in a long while, he was free, isolated from his nightmares, he was content. Life was not fair.

So, Sheppard had turned his back on that sanctuary and answered the call that had him flying back into the hellhole called Afghanistan. He had watched and waited there in the desert, under the resentful eye of the commander, emerging at the appropriate time to back up the Special Op's team sent in to rescue General Jack O'Neill, who managed to get himself kidnapped along with Doctor Daniel Jackson.

His mission had been to facilitate the rescue of O'Neill; that failing, he had direct orders from the General, not to leave Jack O'Neill in the hands of the enemy… alive. It was an easy mission, a run and grab. The terrorists were amateurs; a war-experienced Navy Seal commander, a man good at his job and one that rarely failed in his mission, led the Special Op's team.

Sheppard had been instantly attracted to the tall, moody blond haired commander. For the first time in his life, John felt a warm feeling, a kindredship, deep down in his gut that he had never experienced before. When Commander Larabee had ordered him to stay with the chopper, he felt a need to obey the man, that Larabee was only looking out for him. For the first time he felt ashamed, when the man had glared into his eyes, mad as hell, chewing his ass off, all because John had disobeyed his order to stay safely hidden with the helicopter, out of harms way. He was hurt when Larabee had turned his back on him in anger. Unknown to Sheppard, Chris was trying to control his irrational, and totally alien, fear of losing the younger man, not understanding the instant connection to the young pilot.

Why did O'Neill have to show up at McMurdo and recognize him? He had been safe, alone, but secure from the nightmares of his life. Tears leaked out of John's closed eyelids as he broke down; it wasn't true, he had been unhappy, lonely, only the flying kept him sane. After meeting Larabee, John didn't want to be alone anymore; he was hurt, confused and wanted to go home, home to his family, home to his newly discovered 'world', a good world, with friends that accepted you and trusted you, brothers. But the brother hadn't wanted him; no one wanted him, only the Goa'uld. John's openly cried, his spirit broken by that revelation.

From where he was being held, JD could almost make out the frown lines around his friend's eyes; Sheppard was clenching them close so tight. The pilot was losing his battle against the Goa'uld, giving up. He could feel the feeling of resignation within the pilot and JD struggled against the system lord what-to-be, ignoring the threat of the knife at his throat. "John Sheppard, don't you dare give up. Chris Larabee is coming through the gate any minute now. Don't you dare give up." JD yelled to his shattered friend, praying that Larabee wouldn't make a liar out of him.

JD heard John whimper, and yelled out, telepathically, _"John, hold on… Chris is coming."_

Sheppard's body jerked in response to JD's voice speaking to him in his mind, opening his eyes, mouthed through blood covered lips, asking,_ "Chris is coming for me?" _

"I promise, John. Chris will be leading the cavalry through the gate any moment; we are going home." JD spoke out loud to his friend, praying that he would be able to keep his promise. "Close your eyes, John, rest," tears welled up in the younger man's hazel eyes. He was letting Sheppard know that it was okay to let go, to run and hide, the pilot deserved the peace of his dream world.

"Chris is coming for me." John voice sound young, and full of hope. His eyes closed, willing himself to a dream state, to wait for Chris.

"How dare you defy me!" Duamutef growled.

Sheppard's eyes jerked open at the menacing words to see JD and the Goa'uld standing before him. The two men's eyes bore into each other.

"This is your fault, infant, it is your hand that holds the knife," the Goa'uld twisted the knife, slashing JD's throat open and letting the young man's body fall to the floor, his lifeless eyes locked onto the major's.

John's eyes flashed golden and, tilting his head back, Sheppard opened his mind and screamed for his guardian.

"_CCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHRRIIIIIISSSSSSSSSS."_

The six men strode into the bright sunlight and froze at the sight of weapons coming to bear on them by a band of ten men surrounded the mouth of the cavern. One man stood with a pistol to the head of the woman as she stood in the grasp of another man.

The Delta team responded immediately with their own weapons raising, creating the proverbial 'Mexican standoff'.

"Well, we seem to have reached an impasse, Larabee." The man pressed the gun tighter against Valeria's temple.

Chris Larabee's mouth quirked as he stared into the captor's eyes. Finally, he motioned his men to lower their weapons.

"Excellent choice, Larabee."

"Who are you? And do you want?"

"Ah, well, that is the question isn't it? Let's just say that I work for a different branch of the government than you. Our interests are the same, only our goals vary." He dropped the pistol away from the woman's head and stepped forward, glancing at the others in Larabee's team. "I'll just relieve you of that bag, if you don't mind."

The man stepped forward and Chris moved to block his way as the others surrounded Standish and his bundle.

"And if we do mind?"

"You really don't want to do that." The man's voice lost its casual attitude, becoming low and threatening. At his signal, all of his men, except the one holding the woman, moved forward.

"It is not yours to take." The commanding voice from behind them had the captors turning.

Valeria had watched the confrontation, waiting for a chance to act. As the men moved forward, past her, she seized the opportunity, knowing that Larabee's team would react quickly.

She reached beneath the paneled coat and gripped the weapon strapped to her thigh. With a flick of her wrist, the blade extended to its full length even as she kicked back, connecting with the knee of the man holding her. Feeling his grip loosen, she stepped forward and spun around, the blade rising as she did. Her spin continued even as the severed head bounced and then rolled to a stop.

She did not see the body as it crumpled to the ground; the warrior was already charging her next victim. Gripping the handle, she whirled the blade above her head, the length carrying it in an arc over her head and descending downward to rake through the exposed stomach muscles of the nearest man, as he stood frozen, staring at the decapitated body. He made a grunting sound as his bowels tumbled out the gapping slash.

Larabee's team recovered from the gruesome sight first. While Chris, Vin, Buck, and Josiah retrieved their weapons and opened fire on the stunned assailants, Nathan pushed Ezra toward the cavern entrance and took up a defensive stance in front of the man. Ezra had placed the ZMP to the side of the entrance and now joined Nathan in the doorway, both men ready to protect the very thing they had come for should their companions fail.

The fight was intense, but short lived. Larabee's team eliminated seven men. The tenth man, the man that had spoken, met his demise on the tip of the lethal blade wielded by the woman. As the last man fell, she gazed on the battlefield, looking for any further threat. Finding none, Valeria cleaned the blade on the pant leg of her last victim before collapsing the blade into its hilt and replacing it in its sheath.

Wilmington stepped up, stopped behind Larabee's shoulder, "We got no time left, Chris, we gotta go, now. Them boys are running out of time."

Larabee turned to look over his shoulder at his old friend. There was a hint of controlled panic in the blue eyes. Knowing the man was normally cool under fire, he wondered at the intense emotion that the man was displaying, but looking into the intense blue eyes, a feeling suddenly washed over the team commander and he blanched at the reverberating cry in his mind. He instantly understood the second-in-command's urgency. The SOP leader nodded and received a nod in return.

No further words were spoken as they gathered together and left the area, leaving the remains of the men to decay and be claimed by the land.

"You son of a bitch, get him out of there," JD slammed his fists hard against the force field, sending shock waves of color floating outward from where his hand impacted the barrier. On the other side, floating in what JD could only describe as a womb, was John Sheppard. "You're killing him," JD screamed over at the woman silently watching the major's body violently convulse, suspended inside a sac of what appeared to be amniotic fluid. The major was having another full-blown grand mal seizure, his third in the last two hours. And all Dunne could do was watch, unable to reach the closed off mind of the other man any longer.

Sheppard's body convulsed for a few more seconds, before settling back down. John never cried out or regained consciousness from his ordeal. JD leaned both hands, palms flat, against the force field, lowered his head, saying a prayer, his fingers tingling from the energy running through the field. The first time JD touched the force field, he had been thrown through the air, landing against the wall of his cell. The second time, it tickled as energy ran up and down his arms. The third time was more like a lover's caress, softly brushing against his fingers.

However, no matter how hard JD pushed, begged or pleaded, the force field would not budge. Mary now circled the womb encasing the major, monitoring Sheppard's condition while laughing at his attempts. JD closed his weary eyes; the major had settled back down, his black hair floating in the fluid, eyes open, but not seeing. It was as if he was in an Ancient's version of a sensory deprivation tank…a tank from hell in Dunne's opinion.

JD had panicked at first, seeing the major's naked body floating, curled inward like an eight-week fetus. John's lips were slightly open, but his lungs failed to expand. Oxygen flowed through what looked like an umbilical cord attached to the man's abdomen. It had a red hue to at that led JD to believe that blood pumped through it and into the major's body, before returning to the placenta-like walls. JD could only guess that was where carbon dioxide and other waste products were taken and discarded.

The young man estimating that the major had been in the tank going on two days now. However, JD couldn't be sure. The major appeared to be losing weight; his eyes were circled with dark smudges, his cheekbones sunken from dehydration. Dunne had no idea that he also was suffering from lack of nourishment since the Goa'uld had not fed or offered water to either of the men since their capture. JD figured it was a way to control them, keeping them weak and on the verge of delusions. It was becoming harder to tell the real from the imagined, to remember where they were and why.

"Ah… so soon," the host, and glanced over at JD, "my infant, is starting to wander within his mind again, we must make sure his hallucination is a strong as the last one too," a wicked smile stretched out across Mary's thin lips.

Standing at the base of the sac, Mary pushed her arms into the artificial womb. The sac sealed around her upper arms as in her right hand, she gripped a syringe with her slim, long fingers. Mary's other hand resting on John's chest, her fingers playing with the dark, soft hair running down his abdomen. Sheppard's back arched upward as Mary shoved the needle into a vein in his arm. The hallucinogenic drug took effect immediately, sending John's body into a violent convulsion. Sheppard's limbs flung left and right, smacking into the inner wall of the sac.

JD bit his lip and silently cried out as the image running through Sheppard's mind once again hovered over the artificial womb as a holographic display.

John's blood burned as the drug flowed through his veins, seemingly boiling him alive. He took a deep breath and sucked in liquid. Panicked eyes shot open. He was drowning; his fingers clawed at the transparent bubble serving as his tomb. His lungs hurt from lack of air and opening his mouth, John swallowed the bitter fluid, causing his throat to constrict and seal. Exhausted, John's world darkened and he began to relax until the sound of JD's voice forced him to open his eyes and try once more to escape his watery tomb. Sheppard swung his arm back, his hand folded into a fist, and punched the wall of the sac, over and over, until he finally breached the wall lining.

John's body followed his arm through the shattered membrane as the womb flushed Sheppard out like a newborn baby, depositing him onto the cold floor on his stomach. He shivered as he took in that first breath of air, his lungs burning. Arms trembling, John pushed himself up to his hands and knees, retching as his body forced the unwanted fluid from his system. Sitting back, his knees tucked under, John glanced around the darkened room; he wiped his mouth with his hand, flinging the wet substance hanging for his chin across the cell.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly released it, hoping to calm his fast beating heart. John forced himself to relax, placing his hands on his thighs, only to snatch them around his chest when he realized he didn't have a stitch of clothing on. Rocking back and forth, the major waited for his eyes to adjust to his dark surroundings.

Jerking his head around, he caught a glance of motion out of the corner of his right eye. His body shifted, facing the moving shadow. "JD?" John hesitantly called out.

"John."

The major instantly reacted to the hand grabbing his shoulder; his dominant hand grabbed the offending wrist, bending thumb and fingers while twisting the hand at the same time, forcing a howl of pain from his attacker. Next, he swung his elbow back and up, connecting with his attacker's chin. With his assailant down, and rolling in pain, John scrambled to the nearest corner, squeezing his back against the wall, both knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around his head. His body trembled as his exhausted mind flashed back to his time spent in captivity, surrounded by the enemy in the hellhole terrorists called Afghanistan. Rocking back and forth, Sheppard waited for the attack to begin.

"Goddammit, Sheppard, that hurt." JD yelled between painful breaths, cradling his swollen wrist to his chest. The boy sent John a hateful look before climbing to his feet, "You son of a bitch, you did that on purpose." JD strolled over to stand before the major, glaring down, his eyes dark and angry, his hands balled into fists at his hips. Seemingly forgetting about his injured waist, the ex-Delta team member smacked Sheppard on the side of the head.

John's head snapped hard against the wall; dazed, Sheppard's body swayed as he tilted his head, looking up into JD's face. Hazel eyes met two dark holes of hatred and John sucked in his breath, "Sorry, didn't know it was you, kid," the major stuttered out. "I wouldn't hurt you for the world, JD."

"Sure, bet that's what you tell all your men." JD hands waved around the cell, "Don't worry, I'll watch your back. Yeah, right, you'll watch my back. More like you'll stab a knife between my shoulder blades as soon as I turn my back on you." The younger soldier kicked the major's legs out from under him, sending John's butt to the floor, "You're nothing but a worthless piece of shit," kicking the major until the defenseless man lay curled against the wall, hands over his head, knees drawn up to protect his private parts.

"Sorry…sorry, God I'm sorry," John murmured painfully.

"Oh, you'll be sorry, pretty boy," Sheppard squeezed his trembling body tighter against the wall as a pale hand caressed his cheek.

"No…no…no," the tortured pilot chanted.

"John," Delicate fingers ran down his chest, "you need to stop hiding." Confused and pain filled eyes peeked out from under trembling arms.

"Mary?" bewildered, John rubbed his eyes, one moment it was JD, yelling and kicking at his defenseless body. Now, the female pilot knelt before him, seductively circling her delicate fingers over his chest and down his abdomen. "what…what are you doing?" his body stiffened, as she ran her hand down his thigh then back up between his legs. "stop…stop…this isn't right. Chris…"

Mary bent over and locked her lips over John's, sucking away his breath, "Oh my sweet infant, Chris gave you to me."

Shaking his head in denial, Sheppard fought the hands grabbing his legs, pulling them away from his body. He cried out in horror as he felt the weight of the woman straddling his lower hips. "Yes, my infant, cry out," she raked her fingernails down his thighs, leaving a trail of blood. Sheppard screamed out in terror, "Again my infant, I want to hear your sweet voice crying out in terror." This time, her nails clawed their way down his chest, carving into his skin.

"No…no…no…" John cried, fighting against the weight holding his body down.

A deep, double layered laugh echoed around the cell, "You will be mine, infant." John caught the white flash of Mary's eyes before his world tilted and refocused.

"Not happening… oh god," John beseeched, JD young male body now replaced the woman's. Sheppard cried as rough, strong hands ran over his body until they settled on his ankles. "JD no…promised, to take care of each other, don't do this," John begged as his legs were pushed up to his chest.

"I lied," JD whispered into Sheppard's ear, "you're not worth saving."

John's eyes rolled back and, tilting his head, he cried out, _"Matris, commodo, succurro mihi"_ as JD lowered his body over the terrified pilot, _"Planto is subsisto, commodo, matris, planto lemma subsisto." _


	8. Chapter 8

Lights flickered, the ancient city of Atlantis shook with fury; an infant was crying in terror. The city cried out in outrage as the blood of Lucetius soaked into her floors. Deep down in the lower levels of the city, a stasis chamber cycled open, and Minerva, daughter of Lucetius, older sister and guardian of _Dux_ of Antiquitas opened her eyes for the first time in 10,000 years.

Her golden eyes danced with fire reflecting the rage in her heart, "Valeria, child. Answer me," tilting her head, her long black hair, streaked with silver, swayed to the side, her hand brushed against her forehead, hearing a far distant cry of despair, a mother's loss of her son.

"_permissum mihi intereo… commodo iustus permissum mihi vado."_ Minerva shook her head, hearing the despair in the male infant's voice. The Ancient reached out with her mind, searching for the terrified boy child. Minerva swayed as she touched the infant's mind.

"Oh, _tenure unus," _she called out to Valeria's child_, "shush, young one, know that you are cherished, feel my love surround and protect you from harm." _ Minerva's energy form stepped out of the stasis chamber, leaving her solid body behind.

JD screamed until his voice was raw, his heart breaking at the sobs coming from his friend. John was still trapped inside the fluid sac, his inner fears displayed and manipulated by the Goa'uld.

"It's not me John, it's not me." JD sank to his knees, leaning against the force field keeping him from his friend. "You filthy dirty rotten snake, I'm going to kill you. Do you hear me, maggotbreath? I'm… going… to… kill… you," swore the youngest member of Larabee's team.

The lights flickered on and off, keeping rhythm with John's faint heartbeat. The Goa'uld's deep resounding laughter, bounced off the walls. The lights of Atlantis flickered off… and the city fell into darkness.

Duamutef stood back; moving away from the sac holding his infant as a glowing, wiggling mass of tentacles appeared at the door.

JD felt one of the tentacles touch his cheek as it moved through the force field, as if it was make of butter.

The energy mass stood beside the sac, reforming; soon Minerva appeared. Light danced around her form and she stood tall, glaring at the Goa'uld, "You do not belong here, Duamutef, son of Horus."

"And you belong in the past, Minerva. I claim the Heir as my own. His mother has abandoned him; his guardian has refused to take up his charge. You have no power over me, Goddess."

"We shall see, son of Horus, we shall see," Minerva reached out and touched the sac, dissolving it instantly; at the same time, she held up her left hand, palm flat, sending a electrical charge toward Duamutef, hitting him square in the chest and flinging the host body backwards across the cell. Mary's body landed in the far corner, sliding to stop against the cold floor. The Ancient reached down and gathered a dripping wet major into her arms, his dark head rested on her shoulder.

Her eyes softened as she gazed down upon the Heir's face, "You are your mother's son, young one." Minerva walked over to JD, gliding to a halt before him. Bending down, she placed Sheppard's limp body into JD's arms, "You are his guardian now, son of my brother, until the one that is destined to watch over him arrives with _Dux_ of Antiquitas."

"Help us," JD pleaded.

"I do not have the power to save you," Minerva glanced over her shoulder, "He awakens soon. Arrogance will be his downfall." She smiled, facing JD, "Protect the young one with your life, and he will protect you with his." Minerva's form faded, leaving the cell in darkness. JD hugged the major to his chest, rocking back and forth, until he fell into a restless sleep.

JD drifted awake slowly, groaning as he shifted the limp body in his lap. He wasn't sure if the room was pitch dark or not, he was too afraid to open his eyes to find out. The low prolonged moan coming from the far side of the cell took the choice away from him. His eyelids shot open, pulling the major's body closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around his friend. The gentle movement of Sheppard's chest gave the younger man a sense of well being, the major was resting peacefully. Sighing, JD tugged John's dark head under his chin, and then waited, his body tense, the Goa'uld would have to rip Sheppard from his dead fingers to claim him.

"Is someone here… please… is someone here," Mary's frightened, trembling voice asked from the shadows. "Please answer me, please help me." JD could hear the woman's faint weeping as she moved around, trying to get up on her feet.

JD shuffled backwards, not taking the chance that the Goa'uld was playing with them, drawing the sleeping major with him, trying to make as little noise as possible. "No…" Sheppard grumbled sleepily, objecting the sudden movement.

"Who's there?" Mary scuffled around in the dark, "JD is that you? Answer me."

"Mary?" JD cautiously called out.

"Thank God, JD. We need to find the major," JD could hear the woman moving toward him in the dark, "He's hurt… I… I," Mary stopped in mid-sentence, memories that were hers but not hers flooded her mind, her right hand flew up to cover her mouth as if that could stop the dreadful words for escaping her lips, "I… I… rraa." The tall blonde swayed, fighting the darkness that wanted to claim her soul.

Weary hazel eyes glared heatedly under thick eyelashes at the woman staggering closer. "Travis, don't come any closer." JD snarled, feeling the body in his arms trembling, Sheppard was awake, aware and scared out of his mind, hiding his face against JD's chest. "John, can you hear me?" the younger man whispered down to his charge, "It wasn't real John, I… I…" glancing back up at the blonde woman fighting the tears in his eyes, "we… we didn't touch you. The Goa'uld planted the suggestion in your mind using drugs. John, you got to believe me, I would never…God…never hurt you like that. Please…believe me, tell me you believe me," his shoulders relaxed as the dark head nodded against his chest.

"Hurtts…"

"What hurts John? Where do you hurt?" JD raised his voice in panic; his eyes wildly searched the room for help, only to have his eyes fall on the blonde lieutenant. Dunne felt the major rubbing his hand over his heart, and feared the worst; the man was having another episode and was starting to seizure again.

"Heart… hurts," John hiccupped between weak sobs, "my mother left me… she left me… Chris…turned his back…on me… no one wants me… can't do this…any more…hurts too much," his voice hitched, a slit of green flashed under dark eyelids, "want to go with angel."

"No… that wasn't an angel, John, that was only a illusion," Dunne knew that he was talking through his teeth, for he too dreamed about a angel, a beautiful woman with long dark hair, streaked with silver, she had held her head high, power radiated from her being as her strong arms placed Sheppard into his care… his care.

"Let me hold the infant, he is scared and wants his mother," Mary requested, holding her arms out to the major, with a dark gleam in her eyes.

JD's eyes snapped around to face the woman. When had Travis moved to kneel beside them? "Mary?"

The blonde shook her head in confusion.

"Let me have him," Travis reached over and started to wrestle Sheppard from Dunne's grip, "he's mine JD, let go. Chris gave him to me." The major reacted instantly to the sound of Larabee's name and leaned towards his co-pilot.

Atlantis groaned, as if in agony, the lights flickered on and off, to finally settle to dim glow; an invisible hand brushed against JD's cheek, startling the young man. Dunne blinked and cocked his head to listen even as he tightened his grip on the major. JD closed his eyes and let himself sway, focusing, Atlantis was whispering… singing a song… a song of love, of family, of betrayal, the song repeated, love, family, betrayal, the song repeated, this time, splitting into a new verse, the love of a mother for her son, protect, say the oath of guardianship, a mothers love, she was coming, say the oath, "_Shush , parvulus , pro I'am vestri patronus , sto validus procul meus pars ut I'll sto per vestri. EGO mos manus manus vos tutus in vestri matris telum."_

In a daze, JD repeated the language of the Ancients, "Shush, infant, for I am your protector, stand strong at my side as I'll stand by yours. I will hand you safely into your mother's arms."

Sheppard's eyes snapped open, turning around to face the younger man, "JD?" John struggled against Mary's grip. "Let go of me, woman."

Mary instantly freed the major's arm at the venomous tone of his voice, "How dare you talk to me that way, major," her voice was low and threatening.

Both men struggled to their feet, Sheppard swayed, leaning into Dunne for support, which JD instantly gave by wrapping his arm around the major's waist. "You have no more power over us, maggotbreath, we have each other and Atlantis will protect us both from your mind games til the return of _Dux_ of Antiquitas."

"Then you no longer have any use, infant," Mary's eyes flashed white, the Goa'uld's double layered laughter echoed around the cell, "Turn over control of the city to me, infant and I may let you both live."

John and JD, at the same time returned a strong, "go to hell," as their answer. Sheppard pushed Dunne behind him, and took a defensive stand at the sneer that appeared across the blonde's lips.

The blonde woman's head tilted back, and the Goa'uld let lose a hideous scream of rage, eyes glowing bright, Duamutef attacked, drawing first blood, backhanding the major across the room, then pouncing on JD with a right hook to the jaw, sending the young man into the wall where his body slumped to the floor.

"They will hear you scream across the oceans of space, infant," the goa'uld advanced toward Sheppard, as he struggling to get to his knees, "your pain will call her to me."

John barely had time to raise his arm in defensive when he caught the glimmer of metal in the Goa'uld's hand. The major howled in pain as the knife took its first bite into his flesh. The smell of blood drove the Goa'uld into a frizzy, slashing and cutting into Sheppard's arms and chest as he curled into a ball, protecting vulnerable body parts.

Dunne shook his head, clearing the fog in his brain and cried out a warning, "JOHN!" as the Goa'uld drove the knife into the major's unprotected back. Breathing hard, JD forced his legs to move, he lunged for the knife being pulled out of his friend's back.

Duamutef snarled, driving the knife down into Sheppard's back once more, twisting the knife causing as much damage as he possibly could. Blood pooled around the major's body… the city shuddered. The Goa'uld turned to face the charging protector and swatted him aside like a fly, sending JD's body sliding across the floor, smacking into the wall once again, "You dare attack me child, your own blood?"

"I'm not your child, you monster." JD screamed as he struggled to return to his feet.

"Where do you think you're going, infant?" Spinning around, the Goa'uld drove the knife deep into Sheppard's thigh, stopping the pilot from crawling toward Dunne. "Cry out, infant, call for your mother." Duamutef reached down pulling the blade out of the major's leg and flipped the major over onto his back, "call her."

"No…" John's mouth filled with blood; he was dying. He wanted to call to her, wanted to hear his mother's voice in his mind for the first time, but not at the cost of her life. He knew she had not abandoned him. There was a reason she could not be in his life. He would not betray the one that gave him life. "No."

Duamutef plunged the knife into Sheppard's chest.

JD roared as the major's back arched off the floor. The major's chest rattled with a death sound as his body settled back to the floor; John's head turned to the side facing Dunne, his eyes open, lifeless, "You killed him, you killed him." Dunne crawled over to Sheppard's body, pushing the stunned Goa'uld away from the major's body.

JD gathering the lifeless form into his arms, rocking the major as if he was a child, whispering, "Come back, John, please come back."

The Goa'uld stood, his host's body trembling, the woman within screaming in outrage. At that moment, Duamutef did not know who was in control of the body he inhabited as he reached down and took the major out of a shell shock Dunne's arms, and strolled out of the cell. In a daze, JD struggled up and blindly followed the red trail of blood that dripped onto the floor.

Atlantis shuddered, deep in the lower levels Minerva cried out, plunging the great city into darkness.

The Goa'uld stormed into the control room, rage inflaming his blood. Fists clenched and unclenched as he stalked about the room. For two days, the infant had defied his attempts to force him to submit. He had played the two men against each other, threatened one to compel the other to surrender control of his will and each time, just at the point of submission, the two pathetic subjects had found the strength to bolster the other's resolve to resist a while longer. This last failed attempt had pushed Duamutef past the breaking point and he had

taken his frustration out on the dark haired major, drawing screams of rage from the smaller human. Even his host had fought to stop the assault.

The grievous injuries had required the major being put into stasis, where he could be returned to health. Until then, the Goa'uld would have to wait. The halfling had been huddled in a corner, cowering. Duamutef was certain that the boy had yet to move and the thought served to calm the turbulent emotions within as an evil smile pulled at the lips of blonde host.

Duamutef moved through the silent city, taking in the sights that he would soon control. Once the young Ancient accepted him, the Goa'uld would reign supreme over the incredible city, over the entire Pegasus system. Moving into the control room, the blonde moved to the edge and gazed out at the gate…the open gate. And the delicate hand of the female slammed down on the railing with enough force to bend the metal. The Goa'uld realized how vulnerable the city was…he was.

Realizing there was no way to raise the shield, Duamutef made a decision. With the two men secure in a room two levels down, Sheppard in stasis and Dunne frozen with terror, he was confident that they would be going no where. He turned and moved to the control console. Studying the glyphs, he touched the appropriate pads on the console, dialing a long abandoned gate. As the last Chevron engaged, a malicious smile tugged at the female pilot's lips.

The event horizon burst forth as Duamutef moved from the control room and leisurely walked toward the gate. Taking one last glance over his shoulder, the Goa'uld passed through the gate and disappeared.

A deep purplish hue is how Dunne would describe the color of the wine swirling around in the tall elegant flute, etched with elaborate symbols. JD held the glass up to the light, swirling the liquid around faster and faster, caught up in the different reflections of colors flowing like a waterfall over the edge, staining his hand crimson. The room temperature wine turned dark burgundy, almost black, as it's thick substances streamed down his arm.

Fixated, JD watched the thick liquid pool on the floor. His eyes lazily blinked, as if awakening from a long, deep sleep. Dunne blinked again, his whole body shivered as the glass slipped from his fingers, shattering. Each fragment of glass reflecting different memories of pain, his pain and…

"John," he whispered, clenching his eyes shut against the onslaught of his last nightmare. Gasping, Dunne's hazel eyes snapped open. Something had brushed against his face. Panting, JD raised his hands and started hard at the dark brown, crusted blood that covered his hands; it wasn't a dream, he had blood on his hands, John's blood. Frantic, the young soldier, wiped the palm of his hands on his pants, as awareness of his situation slowly crept into JD's conscious mind. His friend was dead, reality struck hard, JD's stomach cramped, forcing him to chinch his teeth to stop the screams of pain as tears of sorrow flow down his dirty cheeks, leaving streaks. John was dead, knifed to death by another friend inhabited by a evil creature.

"John," gasping, Dunne's hazel eyes snapped open. Something had brushed against his face. Panting, JD once again raised his hands staring hard at the dark brown, crusted blood that covered his hands; it wasn't a dream, he had blood on his hands, John's blood. Frantic, the young soldier wiped the palm of his hands on his p ants, as awareness of his saturation slowly crept into JD's conscious mind.

Anxiously he searched the room, calling out to his friend, "John," not expecting an answer as he further propelled his body in the ar corner with his back defensively against the wall. The room was dark, except for the low shaft of light across the room in the far wall. From the warm glow given off by the beam, JD

could make out that he was no longer in the cell, no, this room looked more like a laboratory.

Huddled in the corner, he wrapped his arms tightly around his body and began to rock back and forth, his head making a light thumping sound as it banged the wall. The soft thuds were accompanied by the soft murmurs, "Chris…Buck…help…Chris…Buck…help…hurry…please…hurry."

The ring spun, chevrons engaged and the watery field burst outward as the wormhole was established and moments later Duamutef stepped through. The village was a few miles to the north and the Goa'uld set a ground-eating pace to reclaim the Jaffa army he had secreted into this system. Hopefully, after so many years, some of them still existed.

Approaching the village, he immediately noticed changes in the altar that stood in the middle of the village. 'What is this transgression?' he thought. His image had been replaced? Anger welled within the human body as the Goa'uld raged.

His arrival had drawn the attention of the villagers and they slowly moved forward, not used to the sight of strangers in the village. Only the warriors used the iron ring. No one new came through, only warriors returning. The appearance of this stranger was the first in many years, more than a lifetime of years

Slowly, Duamutef moved toward the altar, studying the carved likeness. It was not a depiction of his original host, Malachi, but that of a woman. His eyes glowed white at the sight. His hand slid into his pocket to retrieve the device that he had removed from Malachi's room before gating to this, his 'home' planet. Slipping the ribbon device onto his hand, he turned to the people as they gathered near the steps.

Though a robe, worn to ward off the strong, winter winds, concealed the uniform, the tattoo on the man in front's forehead indicated that he was Jaffa...a Jaffa in service of a Goa'uld. Yet, again, it was not the symbol of Duamutef, but that of Isis, the mother. Suddenly, a face appeared to him, a face that he knew, and he realized that Isis must have secreted herself away and come to this system within the Lantian healer, Nadia. The knowledge infuriated the creature. The conniving witch would not usurp him now. He had planned too long, suffered too much.

"Bow before your true God," his double-layered voice commanded. The warriors instantly closed in, staff weapons at ready, surrounding the altar, even as the populace moved back with women clutching babies to their breasts and drawing children into the folds of their robes.

The Jaffa standing closest to the steps eyed the female human, assessing the threat. "We serve the God Mother, Isis. It is she to which we bow."

"Isis did not create this planet and place you here. That is the work of your one, true God, Duamutef. It is I to which you should hold your allegiance, not an opportunistic, scheming witch."

The Jaffa bristled at the insult to his Goddess. "Mother Isis has always been here. If you are the creator, why have you not made yourself known before? Our Mother Isis renews us, nurtures and protects us." The man's brows drew down as he proclaimed with distain, "We do not know, nor acknowledge this claim."

The Goa'uld had been trapped on Earth for too long, millennia had passed in this system, his Jaffa long lost to the ages. He had lost power over the very troops he needed for his planned overthrow of the system lords and that comprehension drove him into a rage. Before the rebuffing Jaffa could question his presence on this world, Duamutef brought up his hand and engaged the ribbon device. Chaos erupted in the village as the warrior fell. People screamed and ran from the square as the remaining Jaffa attacked.

It had been a long time since his last battle but the rage within served him well, even trapped in the frail human body. Finding the ribbon device too slow and needing to feel flesh beneath his hands, Duamutef roared as he leapt forward, into the mass of Jaffa.

Screams and shouts rained down on the small village as the battle raged. Staff weapons became clubs, the close proximity making them ineffectual as blast weapons. Two Jaffa flew through the air, tossed effortlessly by the smaller but much stronger Goa'uld. The female essence within cringed at the damage being inflicted on both her body and the Jaffa warriors while the Goa'uld seemed to revel in the carnage, laughing as the bodies piled up. Blood soaked the front of Mary's uniform as the battle continued, some of it hers but mostly that of the defending warriors, the Goa'uld healing each wound as it was inflicted on the host's body.

The fight continued for almost a half hour as the warriors strove to protect the honor of their Goddess. This was not a fight they would win, but neither would they simply concede. By the time the last Jaffa fell, five were dead and three more seriously injured. Duamutef leaned back and roared in satisfaction. The wounds he had suffered were healing quickly, leaving only vivid red slashes beneath the ripped tunic.

Moving through the wounded, the Goa'uld surveyed the damage inflicted on the warriors. He mentally selected the warriors he would be taking back to Atlantis to serve as guards. The men had fought well, a tribute to their mentor. He studied the warriors that lay at his feet and decided none present were the Prime Jaffa for the witch. The absence of Isis made it apparent that the primary troops were not present in this village. He realized that chances were strong that if anyone in the village knew where to find the female Goa'uld, the Prime might have been alerted and was at this very moment headed for the village.

He debated on his next action. His first instinct was to remain and cast out the witch and reclaim his rightful place as deity of this planet. The audacity of her assuming his position, of taking the Jaffa he had secretly brought to the Pegasus system, almost drove him to the brink of annihilating the entire village and continuing on until the witch and her Jaffa no longer existed. But the true prize lay back in Atlantis. The thought of losing the Lantian was the deciding factor in Duamutef's mind. His first objective was to secure the Ancient city and its treasure.

With the decision made, he turned to the fallen Jaffa. Some of them were recovered and now stood in a group behind him. Instantly, Duamutef tensed, prepared to resume the fight. Then he looked into the eyes of the warriors and saw the desire. It was enough to convince him of their craving for a change, a new way. He had his warriors and smiling, he proceeded to select the strongest to take back, instructing them to gather their weapons and belongings. Before joining the warriors for the return to Atlantis, the Goa'uld moved to the back of the altar and touched a series of symbols and waited as a panel silently slid open. He reached in and removed the contents. With a smirk of contentment, the Goa'uld gathered his followers. The young and impatient Jaffa followed meekly, submitting to the domination of this new deity, hungry for a new way and the freedom that it promised.

De'Clan and Iago entered the village to find the villagers in shock. Some people wandered around while others worked to help the injured. The bodies of the dead warriors still lay where they had fallen. The two elite guards questioned the people and quickly headed off in the direction of the Ancient portal.

As the humbled Jaffa warriors shadowed the Goa'uld through the gate, no one noticed as two robed figures slipped in at the back of the pack and stepped through the gate.

Less than twenty four hours later, the Atlantis gate lit up, blue lights running around the ring to light each chevron and engage. Moments after the event horizon burst forth and settled into the smooth vertical surface, forms began to exit. Duamutef appeared first, the Lieutenant's uniform covered with a deep red cloak while a band of gold adorned the blonde hair. Exiting behind her was a group of tall, well-muscled men.

Travis wore an expression of superiority, a snugness that revealed the evil within the woman's body. The Jaffa troops behind her paused inside the gate, staring at the opulent interior. For millennia, they had lived in peace. Their God had long ago disappeared and they evolved, developing a new culture. Theirs was a simple life that had not changed in generations. The Goa'uld had walked out of the gate, expecting to be welcomed as a God. That had not been the case though. After a brief 'discussion' with the Jaffa leader, Duamutef had dispatched the man with ease. Several of the other men of the village need quickly responded. The Goa'uld was pleased that, though they had forsaken their God, they had maintained their rigorous physical regime. The fight was brief but intense, evidenced by several newly healed wounds on the female's body.

The Goa'uld barked out orders, positioning the men around the room to provide cover should someone come through the gate. Surveying the console, he confirmed that no one had used the gate while he was gone. Seeing the Jaffa guards taking up positions to protect the gate, Duamutef gestured for two of the men to follow him and he moved out of the control room to check on his 'guests'.

He opened to door to find things basically unchanged. Sheppard remained in the stasis unit and should be recovered enough for her to continue her attempts at possessing the young ancient. The Halfling had moved from his corner and lay curled next to the stasis unit, between it and the door. He jumped up at their entrance, taking a defensive stance. If his bravado wasn't so pathetic, Duamutef would have laughed. Instead, she instructed the two Jaffa to secure the youngster while she checked on the witch's child.

Duamutef traced his host long, slender fingers across the glass surrounding the stasis unit encasing his infant. He observed that the multiple knife wounds seemed to be healing, however, the Goa'uld knew from his previous host experience, the major's body and mind would be weak and valuable.

Working the controls soon had the stasis unit opening and Duamutef caught Sheppard's limp body as it slumped forward into his waiting arms. He knew the instant his infant became aware as the major's body stiffen in his arms. A slit of green stared rebelliously into his host pale blue eyes.

"I grow weary of this defiance, my infant." Duamutef's eyes harden as he spoke.

Dry, crack lips parted, then closed and parted again, before John choked out, "live with it."

"You only bring difficulty upon yourself, infant." Duamutef brushed the major's wild dark hair away from his face. "There is no need for you to endure more suffering, give into me."

"No." John mumbled, closing his eyes as his weak knees gave out only to open them again when he felt Travis' arms picking up his body and holding it to her chest as if he was a five-year-old child.

JD got his first look at his friend when the Goa'uld turned around. John's face was pale except for the raising pink blush of embarrassment at being held by his co-pilot so effortlessly. "John," Dunne called out, struggling between the two Jaffa.

John shifted his eyes towards the sound of his friend's voice, "You okay kid? Maggotbreath didn't hurt you again did he?"

"I'm fine John." JD answered back, ceasing his struggle against the Jaffa so not to alarm the major.

"Don't lie JD. I can hear it in your voice." Sheppard's eyes slowly open taking in the sight of Dunne being held between two strangely dress males. "Had to call for help did you, maggotbreath?" JD barely heard the major's weak chuckle.

"John," Dunne warned, in a low voice, amazed that the major still held on to his bold attitude.

"You will pay for your intolerance infant." The Goa'uld threaten, digging his host fingers into the major's flesh. New pain danced at the edge of Sheppard's awareness, the growing darkness cycled around his mind, drawing the wounded major back into it sweet embrace.

JD jerked forward, as Sheppard's head fell against Travis' shoulder and the Goa'uld step towards the door. The two Jaffa were unprepared for the snarling youth as he slip out of their grip. Dunne charged forward only to be brought down as the taller Jaffa hit him over the head with his staff weapon.

"That was not very wise child," Duamutef said, turning around, laughing as Dunne rose to all fours, shaking his head back and forth. Eyes flashed white as he watched JD resist the dark cloud trying to pull him down. "Teach him a lesson he will not forget." The Goa'uld instructed his First Prime. He stopped at the doorway, cradling Sheppard's flaccid body and said, "Make him beg to be brought before me."

"NO!" JD yelled, reaching out with his right hand towards his friend. "No… No… God No…" he uttered, panting as his heart raced. The Goa'uld was separating them, taking the major. The Jaffa circled, the shorter one stuck first with a blow to Dunne back, forcing a painful scream out of the soldier's mouth. Falling, JD bit his lip as his chin impacted with the cold floor.

The First Prime roared with laughter as blood gush down his prisoner's chin. "You are a weak fool, boy," kicking JD in the side.

Determined to follow the Goa'uld, Dunne forced his legs to move. He didn't care when the two Jaffa roared with laughter as he crawled on his stomach, heading towards the door. "Where are you going human?" the smaller Jaffa asked, grinding his foot into JD's already swollen right hand.

Groaning, JD snarled back, "Get off my hand ass hole." Taken back, the younger Jaffa did just that, glancing over to the First Prime, clearly surprise that their prisoner would fight back. "You may want to be slaves for the rest of your life, but I don't and neither does my friend." Not giving the Jaffa a second thought, Dunne continued his way towards the door.

The younger Jaffa open his mouth as if he was going to answer Dunne, but the older First Prime waved his arm, gesturing him to be silent. De'Clan, the Goa'uld's reluctant first prime, slammed his foot in the middle of JD's side.

Dunne screamed, pulling his legs up to his chest, his side on fire. Lost in the pain he didn't hear the Jaffa speaking between themselves, 'God', and 'Heir,' is all he could make out before his mind shut down.

JD woke, feeling his body being dragged between the two Jaffa. The cold, moisture of the lower levels, chilled his already exhausted body. He was building up the strength to fight when the voices of the two Jaffa reached his ears.

"This Duamutef is not a God, Iago." The taller of the two Jaffa said, glancing down to make sure that his prisoner was still out, "The priestess has warn us about false gods."

"Then why are we doing his bidding, De'Clan?" the younger Jaffa called Iago asked.

"We need to know if the one that hold Duamutef's attention is the Heir that the priestess has been waiting for." De'Clan replied.

"How will we know?"

"When the time comes, we will know and we will ally ourselves with the Heir to Atlantis as was foretold in the legend." De'Clan stopped at a closed door, frowning at the sounds coming from behind the entrance. The lights flicker on and off, staying off longer then being on. Concern, he glanced back down at the boy between them, "We will know soon enough, I fear."

With a nodded of his head, Iago brushed his hand over the panel on the side of the door, allowing the door to open. Stepping inside the threshold, both Jaffa fell to one knee, pulling Dunne down with them; the two Jaffa lowered their heads, eyes glue to the floor, disgusted at the sight before them.

De'Clan leaned over and whispered into Dunne's ear, before the boy could look up, "Be careful in what you say young one, the female is not truly sane."

JD slowly lifted his eyes and uttered, "Oh God in heaven," at the sight of his friend. John was stretched out upon what look like a steal surgery table. Blood drip from his limp fingers, pooling on the floor. More Jaffa surround him, yelling and gesturing foul, ugly expressions, urging the Goa'uld on as he used his host body to possess his friend. JD couldn't just watch as Travis' body rode the major, Dunne struggling to get loose from the two Jaffa, and yelled, "you fucking bitch… get off him." JD couldn't stop the tears from running down his face, his shoulders shook with rage, and he felt the two Jaffa tighten their grip on his arms, keeping him from moving.

A silent hush fell upon the room as the Goa'uld turned to face the young soldier, a crude smile graced the host's lips, "Ah… so you finally decided to beg for our forgiveness." Duamutef reach down and grab Sheppard's jaw, twisting his face towards Dunne, "infant, look, your guardian has come to join me." JD sucked in his breath, as he caught sight of John's dull, unblinking eyes, which stared right through him. "Bring him closer." Duamutef order, slipping off the major to stand on the opposite side of the table.

JD shot up on his feet, leaving the two Jaffa behind. De'Clan shook his head in warning, but Dunne ignore the First Prime, pulling out of his hands, stumbling over to stand at Sheppard's head. His voice shook as he bent to eye level with the major, "John, I'm here now… it's going to be all right." His fingers traced the tearstain cheek of his friend as Sheppard subconscious pulled away from his touch, Dunne's voice broke, "God, I'm sorry." Looking up into pale eyes, JD yelled, "God damn you to hell, look what you've done."

"I've only claim what was rightfully mine, child." Duamutef stated, running his host fingers down Sheppard's trembling shoulders. A sneer crossed the host lips, in excitement, "My infant feels your presences, child." The Goa'uld leaned over John's upper body, and whispered, "Come closer; you could save him, join me and I'll let you have him as a pet."

"You sick bastard, get your filthy hand off him." JD shoved his hand into Mary's chest, pushing her back against the wall.

Duamutef snarled, jumping forward and with one powerful hand grab Dunne around the neck, pulling him across Sheppard's body, squeezing, JD's face quickly turned blue, "I'll have what is rightfully mind, and you will help me accomplish it." He released his grip, however at the same time the Goa'uld's other hand reached around and grasps JD's swollen hand, crushing it. Dunne closed his eyes, and weakly cried out in pain.

John's eyes blinked, at the sound of pain coming from his young friend and raised his head. "Kid?"

JD shook his head, trying to clear the white fog in his mind; his hand was on fire, he open his mouth to speak, however his throat restricted and he squeaked instead.

"Welcome back, my infant." John froze, Mary's hot breath against his neck sent chills down his back and he had to clench his mouth shut from screaming out in terror as she pressed her body into his. "I grow wearily of your defiance, it's time to chose," Duamutef motion toward one of the Jaffa, who instantly snaked his arm around Dunne shoulders, holding a sharp knife to his throat, bodily pulling the ex-Delta towards the circle of Jaffa.

John labored to set up, only to have to have the Goa'uld help him. He slipped over the side and stood on shaky legs, his arms grabbing the table to keep himself from falling. "Let him go." Sheppard ordered, softly, his voice used up from shouting.

"No… I don't think so. I grow tried of this game, and I only need one of you alive." Duamutef eyes narrowed, the temperature of the room had dropped a few degrees, in the last few moments. Two Jaffa moved to stand behind the major as the Goa'uld spoke, "I will allow you to chose infant, which one of you will live," he paused, snickering, "or dies."

John swayed on his feet; his eyes seeking out for JD, locking onto hazel eyes he asked, "A clean death?"

"John. NO!" JD yelled out before the Jaffa could stop him. He soon found his mouth cover by a big hand. It was hard for him to tell what was on the major's mind, the man looked so lost and defeated.

"If I said no, would that make a difference? Either way infant, you will suffer for you insolences." Duamutef told him, reaching behind him to pick up Sheppard's forty- five Mk 23 pistol. "Choose quickly, before I grow impatient and make the decision for you."

Sheppard lowered his head, he couldn't choose. Either way, the kid would suffer; being a slave for the rest of his natural life, or… John didn't trust the Goa'uld to give JD a clean death. John closed his eyes, desperate to hide from the pain, knowing he would not be able to handle being the Goa'uld's pet, he didn't think he would ever let another person touch him again. A gently, familiar presences touched his mind, forcing a sharp intake of his breath. His angel was back. The sound of his forty-five going off forced him to snap his head up.

Dunne stood still, his mouth opening then closing. Looking down, he was shocked to see a circle of red spread across his chest. Eyes rolling back, JD collapsed to the floor.

"JD." The major shouted, stumbling around the table, his knees buckled as soon as he let go of the table. Only the strong hands of the two Jaffa stopped him from falling to his knees. "God no, not JD." Sheppard whip his head around, "I chose me…me."

"Then you know what you must do, my infant." Duamutef said, gesturing the two Jaffa to drag Sheppard towards Dunne.

The Jaffa dropped the major in front of Dunne's body and back away. Sheppard looked over his shoulder, lost. "What… what…"

"Call her, infant… call out to your mother for help. The witch will help you save him." Duamutef direct him.

John pulled Dunne into his arms, much like the boy did for him hours ago, confused eyes glared back at the Goa'uld, "My mother died when I was very young, stupid ass hole."

"You mother is very much alive infant. She deserted you at birth, left you in the hands of the humans."

The Angel's voice brushed against his mind, smoothing the major's trouble soul, telling him to close his mind off from the evil Goa'uld and to place his hand upon the young boy's chest. "I… I…don't know… my mother is dead." John placed the palm of his hand on Dunne's bleeding chest and closed his eyes.

Duamutef smile in anticipation, he could almost hear the old one, Minerva, teaching the infant how to heal.

JD's back arched off the floor as he took in a deep breath, his eyes slowly open to see John hovering over him. Dunne could feel the major's warm trembling hand on his chest. Placing his hand over Sheppard, the major was healing him at the cost of his own life. "John, please stop. You're killing yourself." JD pleaded with the pale soldier only to have Sheppard tilted over onto his side, barely breathing.

"I allow you to save him, now call her." Duamutef demanded.

"No." John whispered through trembling lips.

"I have no more time for these games, Jaffa make him scream." Duamutef stormed out of the room as he pass his First Prime he ordered, "bring my child" and stomped out heading for the central control. He had wasted enough time with the infant; his true goal would be stepping through the gate in any monument.

Too weak, JD could only close his eyes and cover his ears, bring his knees to his chest, much like an infant in its mothers womb as Sheppard's first cries of pain reached his ears. Tears fell freely as Dunne rocked back and forth, crying out for Chris and Buck to come rescued them.

John refused to utter another cry, biting his lips as the Jaffa touched him, hands roamed his body, touching and probing. He felt his body being pull away from his friend, he fought, clenching at Dunne hand till he lost his grip. They were hurting him, violating his body, John desperately cried out mentally for someone to help him. Silences meet his plead. Lies, all lies, he had no one who care if he lived or died, tears ran down his face, he was drowning, leaving him no where to go but deep inside his own mind.

"Jaffa Knee," De'Clan called out, as the first Jaffa had moved the major's body into position to take what was not freely given by force. The Jaffa froze, dropping to their knees as a group. The major's head rolled forward, facing Dunne, and JD openly cried out at seeing John's open but unseeing eyes.

"Is this what we have to look forward too, becoming animals?" De'Clan voice was laced with loathing for his follow Jaffa. "We are free under the guidance of the priestess Isis." The first prime searched their faces, "Is this how we repay the Ancients for our freedom by killing their young. Look around you my Jaffa, feel the ancient ones outrage at your attempt of violating the Heir."

One by one, each Jaffa bowed their heads. "We return home Jaffa." Iago spoke for the first time since entering the room. As the last Jaffa exited the chamber, Iago turned to the first prime, "What of the young ones?" he asked.

"They have a better change of surviving then we do my friend," De'Clan said, adding, "If the prophecy is correct, we may not live to return home if we do not escape before _Dux of Antiquitas _returns to claim her son."

"Then we must leave and wait till the Heir has need for us," Iago replied back, his eyes soften as they fell upon the dark wild hair of the major, "the little one is very brave."

"Our own young would not have held up as well, my friend. Come we must leave." De'Clan said, pushing the young Jaffa out the door.

George Hammond stood at the conference room window overlooking the gate room, watching the preparation activities for the expedition's departure to Atlantis. Most of the equipment was packed and loaded onto the MALPs for transport. People who had volunteered to go through the gate were in the infirmary for final exams or saying their farewells to friends and families. The General turned at the sound of someone entering the room behind him.

"Ah, Valeria, Chris…are you about ready to go?"

"Yes, sir. Everything is ready. We're only waiting on the final okay from the docs and we'll be set."

"Ah…good, good." Turning his attention to the woman, the older man asked, "And you, madam? Are you ready to return to your home?"

"I am most anxious to see my home, General Hammond. It has been too long since the great city was abandoned by the people she served."

Gesturing for the two newcomers to sit, Hammond pulled out a chair at the large conference table and joined them. He wasted no time but looked directly at the woman. "I think you might have questions for me," he stated.

Shifting forward, Valeria placed her arms on the table and studied the man for a moment and then asked, "If you do not mind…how did it come to pass that you are serving as an uncle to my son?"

The man templed his hands over his abdomen and leaned back in the chair as he began, "In nineteen sixty-nine, I was a young Lieutenant assigned to Cheyenne Mountain. In early August, four people appeared within a secure hanger in that facility. It was SG1 and that's when I learned what the Stargate was and what it was capable of. After that incident, the Stargate was packed up and transferred to a more secure facility." Taking a slow, cleansing breath, he continued. "A few days later, there was another incident…people died. I allowed a man to escape the gateroom. I started after him, but a sound stopped me from pursuing him. A cry…a baby…hidden behind the Stargate… bloody and alone."

Larabee's eyes darted from the General to the woman as the story unfolded. When the man paused, Chris asked, the anger evident in his voice, "You left him?"

The woman alleging to be his ancestor turned gracefully to face his angry countenance. "It was not by choice. The fight with Duamutef caused great damage to me. Somehow, when we arrived on _terra humus_…earth…we were in the wrong time period. My brother and his Goa'uld wanted to kill me and take the child. I had to protect him as best as I could under the circumstances."

Seeing the disbelief on the blonde's face, she explained. 'There were signs, blood droplets in the surrounding area. Knowing that the Goa'uld wanted my child as host, I feared Malachi. While I loved my brother, I knew he could not prevent the parasite from claiming his prize. I would have been unable to protect the infant and he would have been taken by my brother and raised under the guidance of the Goa'uld until such time as he could be taken as a host. I could not allow that to happen."

Valeria turned her attention back to Hammond. "My injuries were grave and I delivered the child fully anticipating my ascension to follow closely behind. I hid the babe hoping that once ascended I would be allowed to guide someone to him. After secreting him away, I prepared to fight my brother and his Goa'uld. That is when Thor arrived. The disturbance in the timeline attracted his attention and he came to investigate. He took me to his ship and placed me in stasis never knowing of the child. I only recently was able to survive outside of the support chamber and convince the Asgard of the potential danger that a full blood Ancient, unprotected by his guardian, would pose to both this and the Pegasus systems. If Duamutef managed to gain control of a warrior Ancient, and return to Atlantis, he would have full control of the city and all her secrets and technology."

"I am sorry, Mother." Chris bowed his head slightly. "We have fought side by side. I know that you are strong and honorable. I should have known that you would not have abandoned your child."

"We know little of each other, son of my blood, but each of us can sense the strength within the other. We are warriors of Atlantis, blood of Lucetius, we are the protectors of all that is Atlantis."

A brief expression of doubt flickered across Larabee's features, but Valeria had turned back to George Hammond and missed it.

"General, what transpired after you found the child?"

Hammond's face colored slightly and he lowered his head to stare at his hands. "At first I considering reporting to my superior, Major Thornbird, but after his treatment of SG1, I was reluctant." He took a deep breath and brought his head up, to face the woman. "I knew that my sister had been trying to conceive, with no luck. I made the decision to take the child to her and let him be raised by her. She was a loving and gentle person and an excellent mother to my nephew."

Valeria watched the man, sensing the nervousness within. She waited.

Hammond turned to stare out the window, looking at the top of the Stargate as he spoke, "She passed when John was five. Norman raised him after that." He looked back at the two people listening intently. "Norman Sheppard is an excellent soldier, a strategist with no rival, but his people skills are lacking. He was a stern father. John's life was harsh after my sister's death. She was the buffer and with her gone…" George directed his attention back to the window. "My wife and I kept the boy as much as we could. We tried to convince Norman that the boy would be better off with us."

He looked back into the eyes of the woman. "John has grown to be a fine young man…a fine officer. I only regret his journey was not an easy one." Moving his eyes to Larabee, Hammond smiled slightly. "I always figured that upbringing was John's main problem with authority. He will balk against 'absolute power' every time. Remember that when you are dealing with him, Commander."

"Yes, sir. I'll try to remember that." With a snort, Chris shook his head. "Should fit right in with the rest of my bunch."

"General Hammond, how much longer before we depart?" Valeria asked.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, he calculated quickly, "Everything should be ready within the next hour."

The older man was turning his attention back to the room when he saw the woman tense and heard her gasp but the cry from the other side of the table drew both heads in that direction. Larabee was clutching his head and gasping for breath. Valeria quickly rose and moved around the table. She placed one hand on Chris' head and the other on his chest. Her head dropped as her eyes closed.

Slowly, Larabee seemed to relax, though he was still pale. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared at the top of the bowed head. As she looked up, he choked out, "John?"

"Yes, he is calling out to the one that will be his guardian. He is but an infant in my world, confused and in pain. He needs protection."

Larabee continued to stare at the woman for a full minute. When he blinked, his face changed and set itself in determination. Standing, he took the woman's hands and helped her to rise. He turned to General Hammond and proclaimed, "We go now…ready or not. Or there will be no need to go at all."

Hammond's eyes narrowed as he studied the two people. With a nod, he turned and marched from the room. "Let's do it, people."

Ten minutes later, they were standing in front of the Stargate, the new ZPM installed and waiting, and the technicians ready to dial Atlantis. Larabee had picked up on Wilmington's mood, the uneasiness, the anxiety that was almost a physical entity. Both men now stood stone still in front of the gate, all their attention on the gate, the intense looks on their faces testimony to their mindset.

All the personnel and equipment was in place. Larabee turned to look into the control room and into the brown eyes of General O'Neill. The older man was pale but his gaze was strong. Looking at each other, they nodded, each acknowledging their respect for the other. Turning back, Chris watched as the eighth chevron locked and the event horizon burst forth. Glancing to his left, he nodded to the warrior queen and followed closely behind as she moved forward and stepped into the watery surface.


	9. Chapter 9

**ACT III**

**ATLANTIS STARGATE**

Valeria emerged from the watery event horizon prepared for anything. Larabee and his team followed right behind her and Sumner and his marines followed on the teams' heels, emerging within moments of the six men and woman. Everyone was aware of the fact that the Goa'uld, Duamutef, had had plenty of time to arrange a reception and, because of the possibility of an ambush, the remainder of the Atlantis expedition delayed their departure for five minutes. In that time, Larabee hoped to secure the control room and allow the expedition party safe entrance to Atlantis. Their window of opportunity was only thirty-eight minutes before the gate shut down again.

The sight of the fabled Atlantis had the men awe-struck as they entered the large space, drawing their attention away from the potentially deadly task at hand. Danger soon reared its head in the form of an attack from the upper levels of the control that felled two marines even as the others sought out refuge. The two commanders quickly took charge of their individual squads, removing the men

from harm's way and placing them in positions to mount an assault.

Valeria had moved further into the room as the men emerged through the gate behind her. She was home, yet it felt different. There seemed to be a void that she felt within, a loss that left her sorrowful. Before she had time to assess the change, the first shot was fired. Knowing the men would react quickly to protect themselves, she sought her own shelter.

Chris had directed his men to the left as they appeared through the gate, clearing the path as Sumner and his marines burst through the blue event horizon. He had watched as Valeria moved away, toward the staircase, seemingly caught up in her memories. Larabee wanted to call out to the woman, aware of the fact that while she was a warrior and dangerous in hand-to-hand combat, she was vulnerable in any kind of firefight.

Glancing around, he barked an order sub-vocally, "Tracer? Hunter? Back her up. She's unarmed."

Vin acknowledged. "Roger, Brimstone." Josiah and he moved up to the stairs and flanked the Atlantian as she progressed upward.

Larabee had turned back to see Colonel Sumner directing his troops to spread out and begin checking for any hostile forces. The blond was just turning to instruct his own team when the first shots zinged out, taking two of the marines down. Men scrambled for cover as bolts from shaft weapons scorched the pink marble floor.

"DOWN!! DOWN!! EVERYBODY DOWN!!" Chris screamed even as he shoved Standish left, down four steps and behind a low wall with Buck and Nathan tumbling in behind them.

Chris ventured a quick look to try and locate Valeria, Tanner and Sanchez. He caught a glimpse of them as they disappeared over the far side of the staircase. Seeing they had found cover, the team leader scanned the area, looking for the assailants.

Sumner's' marines had opened fire with some laying down cover as others dragged the bodies of the fallen marines out of further harms way. The two commanders' eyes met and Chris nodded as the man indicated they would provide cover for Larabee's team.

"Wrangler, take Mother Hen around to the right. Find a way up behind them. Blackjack, you're with me."

The team split with Wilmington and Jackson disappearing down a passageway. Chris headed for another passage with Ezra close on his heels. Just as he passed the low wall of the staircase, he noticed movement in the control room and quickly took aim, but held his fire, recognizing Valeria as she approached from behind.

Above, Tanner and Sanchez had followed the woman as she bounded over the low wall of the staircase and tore up a passageway. The men were hard pressed to follow as she wound her way upward to arrive at a conference room off what looked like the main control room.

As they exited the room, she removed the small weapon from her thigh and extended it to its full length. The woman strode into the room fearlessly. From across the room, a large man charged her only to be felled by the blade as she twirled the shaft in an arc overhead, slicing expertness through his well-muscled abdomen.

Even as he crumbled to the ground, two more of Duamutef's guards turned and fired their staff weapons at the trio. Valeria twisted and rolled right as the two weapons erupted. Hearing the pop of gunfire, she looked up to see the two Jaffa warriors fall. Seeing the two special forces team members moving to check the fallen man, the warrior queen quickly gathered her feet under her and went looking for her next quarry.

On the far side of the control room, at the head of the stairs, Buck and Nathan appeared and fought their way through four guards standing at the low upper balcony wall. Wilmington fired as one Jaffa aimed a zat gun at Jackson's exposed back. The medic dropped and spun as the shot hit the wall next to his head. He shook his head at the grinning Lt. Commander as the mustached man grabbed the alien weapon and turned away, looking for more Jaffa warriors.

Seeing the others attacking, Larabee threw caution to the wind and charged up the staircase. He had time to recognize the tattooed forehead as a Jaffa even as he fired on the two sentries at the head of the stairs. Behind him, Sumner and his men finished off the remaining Jaffa in the area just as the gate began to disgorge the expedition personnel and the equipment and supplies needed to sustain the earthlings in this far off solar system.

"Timing is everything, is it not, Commander Larabee?" Standish noted.

With a sigh of relief, Chris nodded. Seeing his team gathered at the top of the stairs, the blond moved to join them. Stepping on the landing, he glanced at the people gathered around, checking their condition. Finding everyone still healthy, he checked his weapon. Placing the stock against his hip, he said, "We still need to find the boys… and the Goa'uld." Keying his mike, Larabee told Sumner where they were going and instructed him to keep everyone close to the gateroom until the city had been checked and cleared of Jaffa.

"There may be more Jaffa around. Keep your eyes open."

The seven headed out with Larabee in the lead. They inspected each room as they passed, moving down into the bowels of the city as they went.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" Jackson gently voiced.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Jackson. I am fine." She drew herself up to stand straight as she turned to the tall, dark man.

The other five had stopped and watched as the woman turned to confront the team medic.

Cocking his head to one side, the medic softly noted, "You seemed to stagger a bit."

"I have been…a long time…resting," choosing her words carefully. "I require time to regain my stamina, but I shall not impede you."

Chris moved to stand next to the woman. "We can handle this. You settle the others in."

Drawing to her full height once again, the woman gazed into the man's green eyes. "The others can settle themselves. I shall assist you."

Larabee studied her face for a few moments before nodding. "Let's move, then."

They descended to the next level and continued their search. It was only moments later that they encountered three Jaffa as the team rounded a corner. A short firefight ensued, resulting in the demise of the Jaffa and a slight injury to Wilmington, a painful but not serious burn to his thigh.

Meeting more Jaffa as they moved down the hall, they knew they were in the right track and hoped it would lead them to Duamutef. Entering a small room off a side corridor, they located their adversary.

Josiah stepped across the threshold and immediately fell and rolled to the right as the doorway lit up with staff blasts. Larabee looked quickly around the door and dove to the opposite side away from Sanchez.

Five Jaffa stood at the back of the room, weapons primed and aimed at the doorway. As he ducked down, Chris spotted Lt Mary Travis, or at least the body of the pilot, since she was no longer in control of her own actions, standing at the back of the room behind the protective ring of Jaffa warriors. That the pilot was not commanding her own will was no more evident than when she lifted a weapon and fired at them. The shot hit the wall directly over Larabee's head.

"Son of a bitch," he exclaimed as he shimmied behind a cabinet.

SGAM7

Minerva mentally brushed past the rocking form of her brother's child to reach the one so desperately needing her protection. She gathered the infant into her arms, rocking him back and forth, singing, tenderly into his ear, smoothing his tormented soul. Where was Valeria? Where was the infant guardian? Minerva shook with rage and the city shuttered with her. Tilting her head, she listened as the city told her that the gate had been activated. Gathering the infant closer to her chest, she stood and carried him over to her brother's child.

"_Child, we need your help." _Minerva spoke directly into JD's mind; Dunne pulled his legs closer to his chest. "_JD Dunne, we need your help, John needs your help if he is to survive."_

"John…" Dunne uttered under his breath, his body instantly relaxing as soon as Minerva placed Sheppard into JD's open arms.

"_Take him and go, move deeper into my lower levels, I'll keep you both safe. The city will only answer to his voice, his touch, his blood, just place the palm of his hand in front of the any door panel and the room will open." _Minerva bent over and kiss Dunne's forehead and brush John's wild hair out of his face, tenderly. "_Now Go_."

JD struggled to his knees, keeping John's body against his chest; Dunne pushed the major's body over his shoulder and stood on wobbly legs. He made it to the doorway when a warning sounding alert echo downed the corridors. Absorbed on putting one foot in front of the other, it never enter into JD mind that help had finally arrived as he slowly made his way deeper into the heart of the Atlantis.

SGAM7

Duamutef had holed up in an excellent defensive spot. Chris had managed to sneak in behind Sanchez, but he was doubtful that any of the others could get through the door without injury. He keyed his mike and ordered the others to find another way in.

Outside, Wilmington exchanged glances with Standish and Jackson, but it was Valeria that drew the three men's attention.

"There is another way. Follow me."

She was ten feet away before the three reacted and hastened to catch up to her, the sound of fighting in the room behind them spurring them on. Though it seemed longer, only seconds later the four rounded a corner and the woman drew to a stop. The men gathered around as she reached for latch and opened the door. They slipped in quietly and found themselves behind the Goa'uld and his men.

Sanchez and Larabee had eliminated all but two of the Jaffa by the time the others had found their way around to the second entrance. One of those fell even as the door opened to admit the woman and the remainder of the team.

Valeria's eyes narrowed as she drew the blade upward and stepped toward the blonde woman as she stood facing towards other side of the room. Just as the deadly blade started its arc, the woman hesitated, her eyes cutting to Larabee.

'_No, Mother. Please.'_

The blond team leader blinked several times, amazement in the green pools of his eyes. He knew that the dark haired woman had heard his thoughts though he didn't understand how. His eyes locked with the warrior's and they stood frozen in the moment.

Buck used that second of hesitation to make use of the gun he had picked up from the fallen Jaffa. He took aim and fired just as Travis began to turn. As the infested body dropped to the ground without a sound, Standish dropped the final Jaffa even as he took aim at the now exposed Larabee.

Slowly, the team moved forward to stop and stand over the body of the now unconscious Air Force Lieutenant, each wearing a different expression-anger, concern, distain, curiosity, distrust.

Finally, Wilmington broke the silence. "So…what do we do with her now?"

Everyone's attention was drawn to Valeria as she proclaimed, "I can remove the creature from your female."

"Without harming her?"

Valeria studied Larabee's face, the slightly anguished expression and then back down to Travis before answering, "If you wish."

"Let's get her to the infirmary. Vin, Josiah? You'll stay with her and the rest of us will look for the boys."

"No, I will take care of the creature. You men shall find my son."

Chris stepped closer to the dark haired woman. "I'm not leaving you here alone with her."

'Do you not trust me, my son?' Her unvoiced question accompanied a smirk gracing the woman's face.

"Oh, I trust you. It's her I don't trust." He nodded to Josiah as he said, "You did promise to not injure my pilot."

They stared at each other for a moment. Finally, Valeria bowed her head. "I shall honor my word. Once the female is secured and no longer poses a threat to my city, I will liberate your pilot from her captor. And you will retrieve my son… your brother…and return him to me."

"Yes, ma'am, I plan to do just that."

Sanchez squatted down and reached out to toss the blonde pilot over his shoulder and then waited as Valeria headed for the door. The men formed a protective circle around the marine as the Lantian led them to the medical center of the city. Dr Beckett and his staff joined them there after Chris informed Sumner that the area was clear. Seeing the Goa'uld was secure, Larabee led his team in search of the missing men.

SGAM7

The Special Ops team departed the infirmary, leaving Tanner and Jackson behind to watch over the Lantian warrior. Beckett and his team had left the trio alone in a far corner of the large room. They had only minutes to wait for the serpent to awaken. Tanner and Jackson both cringed as the body of the pilot began to thrash and fight against the restraints.

The double-layered voice hissed out in anger. "Release me this instant."

The _Dux_ of Antiquitas approached the bed and the enemy of her past chained to it. "Release you? To what end, monster?"

"Your son, witch. That IS why you are here, is it not?"

While her posture remained regal and poised, Valeria inwardly shook with fury, yet she would not allow the monster that had destroyed her brother, and now, perhaps, killed her youngest child as the boy's fate was still undetermined, to force her to lose control. The face she displayed was relaxed and passive as she spoke. "I would know of his fate, but that information will not come from you. As we speak, his guardian searches for him."

"And if the infant is no longer within the walls of Atlantis?"

A smile played on the woman's lips as she bluffed, "My city…my sister…Minerva…has spoken to me. I know the child is here."

Mary's body lurched against the restraints as the Goa'uld spat out, "Lair. Minerva is too old to speak to you. The boy is the destined leader of Atlantis. The keeper would not acknowledge you, nor speak to you as long as the recognized heir is here."

Valeria laughed as the truth was revealed. The sound caused the Goa'uld to swear vehemently at the deception.

"And you claim to aspirations of being a System Lord." Valeria leaned close to the contorted face of Mary Travis as Duamutef continued to struggle. "You are pitiful. You bring shame and embarrassment to your kind. Your uncle was right to deny you power and banish you from his realm."

"I will kill this host if you do not release me at once." Travis paled and her blue eyes fluttered momentarily as the Goa'uld caused her heart to falter. Nathan Jackson took a step forward, but halted at a signal from Tanner, requesting he wait.

"What makes you believe I would care if she survives," answered Valeria. "What concern is the female human to me? Where is my son?"

"You would let this one die?" The host's body choked back a painful moan, "I do not think so. This female is important to the guardian you have chosen for the infant."

"And my son is important to me. Where are he and the other one?"

"Release me, witch…before it's too late."

Stepping forward, the ancient raised her hand causing the Goa'uld to respond with, "Kill me now and you will never find him."

Before Valeria could respond, Mary suddenly cried out as her body arced off the bed. Wide blue eyes stared upward, closing only after the tense muscles relaxed and allowed her body to fall back.

"What are you playing at, Duamutef?"

"I have done nothing. This body is weak and injured," he revealed. "My Jaffa were not pleased to receive their God after so long an absence. The fight was invigorating, but the strain of the weapon used today is proving too much for the frail form. I require a new host."

Valeria's lips twisted into a sneer as she said, "You 'require' nothing but a grave, monster."

"You will never find the infant if I am dead. I have left guards that will kill the infant and child if I am not release. Get me a new host and I will leave this place and you in peace."

"That will be no need of a new host, if I heal this one." Valeria placed the palm of her hand on the pilot's chest. Closing her eyes, the ancient healing power of her people shimmered around her hand, but did not extend any further than her fingertips. "I can not…" she whispered.

Turning toward the two humans, the warrior stared intently into the blue and brown eyes. Both men frowned but said nothing. Schooling her features, Valeria's sorrow filled eyes turned back. "I do not have the strength to heal the woman. I am not a healer; you know this, Duamutef." She took a step back, "I do what I must do."

Eyes as hot as the sun glared at the female host that lay dying, "Take a new human host, and I will not stop you, but you must do it now."

Tanner and Jackson sent worried glances to each other and took a step toward the door. "Do not move, humans."

Travis' form went limp as her mouth opened and the winged head of the serpent appeared. Slowly, the creature writhed its way free and moved down the body of the unconscious pilot. Angry red eyes focused on the two men, as if choosing between the two. The Goa'uld reached the end of the bed and stood erect. The wings of each side of its head flared out, as it seemed to make a decision. In a heartbeat, the creature launched itself sideways, toward the warrior queen.

In that split second, the Lantian woman moved. Vin and Nathan had both reacted by tensing to step back, but before either had moved, the snake was writhing in the clutched fist of the _Dux _of Antiquitas. Red eyes turned to the woman as if the say, 'You lied.'

Her brow raised, the woman hissed, "You will bring harm to none of my family ever again, monster." The creature screeched one final cry as the blade that suddenly appeared in the warrior's hand sliced through and severed the head of the serpent.

The woman wore a tired but satisfied expression as she turned and came face to face with the human healer, "He desired the wrong host for I am not human."

She stepped over the remains of the snake, around Nathan and moved once again to stand at the young woman's side. "Shush, child." Valeria closed her eyes and, placing her hand on Mary's chest, began to heal the traumatized pilot's wounded body.

SGAM7

Chris entered the room cautiously, moving to the left of the door as Nathan entered and slipped to the right. Jackson and Tanner had joined the rest of the team after Sumner sent a squad to secure the infirmary and protect the two women, but so far, none of the three teams they had split into had run into any trouble, nothing since the capture of Mary…at least, the thing that had been Mary Travis.

Larabee and Jackson scanned the bare room and, seeing nothing, nodded to each other and headed out the door. Each room checked and found barren of life, left a bigger hole in Larabee's soul. He had swore to never leave anyone behind. Though Sheppard and Dunne had been taken and not left behind, in a situation beyond his control, that fact did little to lighten the burden on his shoulders. They were his men, his team and ultimately, his responsibility.

Just as he cleared the threshold, a whisper of sound froze Larabee in his tracks. Slowly, he turned back to the room, his hand up for Jackson to wait. Leaning forward, into the room, without actually entering, he scanned the walls again. Three quarters of the way around the room he thought he saw something and he stepped back into the dark void. Stepping to one side to allow light from the hall to illuminate the room, he cautiously moved toward a spot that seemed darker than the surrounding walls. As he approached, he once again caught the whisper of sound, a rustle of cloth.

Moving away from the door and the light of the hall, the blonde's eyes adjusted to the dim light and he began to make out shapes, corners. For the first time, he realized that the room was not square but octagonal with shallow recesses behind each section in the wall. As he drew closer, the whispering sound took on the cadence of a chant and he sidestepped to the left until he could see into the shallow recess. The sight that greeted him chilled the hardened special force leader to the core.

Two pale figures were jammed into the small space, one cradled around the other. Dunne's slight form was molded around the nude, inert body of Sheppard, rocking slightly as he whispered into the man's ear, both men's faces hidden, John's by JD's hands and shoulder, and JD's behind his disheveled hair. The major did not respond to the chant; his body was lax and boneless as his head lolled to one side, swaying slightly to the rocking motion, either unconscious or dead. Which, Larabee couldn't tell. One arm was draped across Dunne's leg, palm up and limp. Even in the dim light, the team leader could see livid bruising on the pale skin of the pilot; not only his arm, but also every part of the man's body that Chris could see from where he knelt. Dark patches hinted of dried blood on top of some bruises and Larabee's fists clenched around the weapon in his hands in a surge of emotion at the sight.

Drawing his eyes away from John Sheppard, Chris visually examined the young communication expert. While Sheppard was nude, JD had managed to retain some of his uniform. The t-shirt he had been wearing was nothing more than rags hanging from the youth's belt. His pants were ripped and tattered, but still served to cover most of his hips and thighs. Larabee could see bare feet curled under the boy's hip as JD rocked to and fro. Like Sheppard, the exposed back and arms were covered with bruises and rust colored splotches of dried blood. Chris could not be certain due to the low light and angle, but the small hands cradling the pilot's head seemed misshapen and swollen. The blond hoped that the injuries would not prove to be a career threatening injury to the team's computer 'geek'. Then he silently scoffed at the thought that that might be the least of the young man's worries.

Larabee had to close his eyes and force himself to calm down. He knew from what Jackson and O'Neill had told them that Mary Travis was not responsible for what had been done to the two men, but it was hard to separate the blonde woman from the parasite within her. Out of a nine men team that served General O'Neill, one third of them were out of commission, maybe to never be capable of service again, due to some unseen…'snake'… as O'Neill put it. Drawing in a deep breath and holding it, Chris consciously relaxed his tense posture and calmed his raging anger. Feeling more in control, he opened his eyes and spoke to the dark haired youth.

"JD?" he called softly.

The young soldier froze, his face still averted, waiting.

Larabee called again, gently, "JD? It's Chris."

The rocking motion started again, faster. The chanting was higher pitched and audible, though barely. "No more, no more…" the youth repeated, again and again.

Larabee's head dropped as the reality struck him that though he had found his missing men, he might not have them back…ever. He stood and stepped back, motioning Jackson into the room.

"Chris?"

Taking a deep breath, the blond released it slowly. "It's them. Sheppard is either dead or unconscious. JD is…" He glanced back over his shoulder. "He isn't responding." Looking back at the tall medic, he stated flatly, "We need Buck."

Nathan nodded even as he peered around the other man, trying to get a look at his friends. "You call Buck and the others. I'm going to see what I can tell about their condition."

Seeing Larabee's mouth open, the black man shook his head. "I won't touch 'em or anything. Just want to get a look."

Chris nodded and moved to the hall as Nathan tiptoed closer to the recessed wall and his teammates.

"Wrangler? You read?"

"10-4, Brimstone. Anything?"

"We're in section three. Everyone converge on us."

"Roger." Tanner responded.

A tentative 'Chris' came through the earpiece and Larabee closed his eyes as he responded to the fearful plea. "He's alive, Wrangler. We can't tell much else, but he's alive."

"Roger, Brimstone. We're moving out now," Sanchez responded. "There in five."

"Got it. Huntsman?" glancing over his shoulder, Larabee added, "Make it two."

Two minutes later, the team was gathered outside the doorway. Josiah had one hand on Wilmington's arm, lightly restraining the big man. When they had arrived, Buck had charged toward the door with only Chris' intervention stopping him from entering. Their eyes had met and both men fought for control of the situation with Larabee winning as the dark haired man backed down.

The blond knew that Wilmington felt responsible for the young man. He was the one that recruited the boy, convincing him that his talents would be better utilized in the Special Ops team than the Delta team he was on at the time. The two had become fast friends after Dunne joined the team, even to the point of sharing an apartment together.

"Buck, we have to go slow…real slow. I don't what he's been through, but…" The man let the statement hang in the air for a moment, allowing the implications to sink in.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Wilmington nodded once. Larabee looked into the man's eyes and returned the gesture. Turning, Chris led the way into the room. Nathan was still across the room, squatting near the recessed area, watching.

Stopping halfway across the room, Chris spoke softly into Wilmington's ear. "Go talk to him. See if he'll respond to you."

Buck had locked his eyes on the wall as if he could see through the barrier to the pair hidden behind it. With a slight incline of his head, the mustached man moved forward. As he approached, Nathan shuffled back, allowing him access to the recess. Crouching down, Buck studied the youth he had come to consider as a kid brother. What he saw broke his heart, and frightened him. Just as Larabee had earlier, the man wondered if the two men before him would ever recover from whatever had been done to them.

Wiping his palms on his pants, he dropped to one knee, moving a few inches closer and said softly, "JD? Son? Can you hear me?"

Buck saw Dunne's shoulders tense, his form tightening around the limp figure in his arms. Wilmington tried again.

"JD? It's okay. We're here, now...me…Chris…all the boys. Why don't you let ole Nathan, here, check the major? You know what a mother hen he is? That's how he got his call name, right? You remember." Buck had inched forward almost unnoticeably as he spoke and was within arm's reach now.

He reached out, his fingers just brushing the youth's shoulder. The reaction was instantaneous…and unexpected.

Shifting Sheppard to the side, JD leapt up, barring anyone access to the unconscious man. His hand came around and his nails racked the back of Wilmington's hand.

"Damn," Buck exclaimed as he fell back, wrapping his hand around the injured limb. He stared at the figure before him. Gone was the wide-eyed, intelligent and inquisitive ex-Delta agent that dreamed of saving the world and being a hero. That youth had been replaced. The new JD wore a feral glower that added years to his once youthful face. The once bright eyes were dead and soulless with no spark of life. Buck's eyes watered at the sight. "Ah…kid."

JD snarled a warning at the bodies standing in front of him. '_When had the creature gotten more help'_, he wondered. No matter. He would not allow them to get to his friend. That monster would not touch him again.

Buck stood and backed away slowly, making no threatening moves. He moved back to stand between Chris and Nathan.

"So, any ideas?" he asked no one in particular.

"We could rush him," Chris offered.

Nathan shook his head. "I hate ta say it, but we might have to. If Sheppard needs help, we don't have time for this."

"Could we perhaps sedate the lad?" Ezra suggested.

Jackson shrugged. "We could but I have no idea what's been done to him. It could make him worse."

The six men fanned out in a semicircle in front of the swaying youth. With a cue from Larabee, they began to move in. Once again, the boy's reaction was swift and unexpected. He charged forward, straight at his friends. With a howl of rage, Dunne leapt into the startled arms of Sanchez. Kicking out his feet, he managed to knock Standish to the ground with a blow to the chin.

Josiah gripped JD's body tightly even as the boy's fists pounded on his shoulders. Nathan and Chris had rushed forward to check on Sheppard, leaving the other four to deal with Dunne. Vin and Buck grabbed JD's arms and pulled him back, forcing all four of them to the ground with JD on the bottom of the pile.

The enraged Dunne fought the hands pinning him to the ground. His head rolled back and watched as John was pulled from the hideaway by two of the demon's helpers. With a strength borne of fury, the slight youth bunched his muscles and broke free of Buck and Vin's grips. His fist came up to slam into the side of Josiah's head, breaking the hold the marine had on his body. Scrambling backwards, JD slipped loose and bolted for his one friend on this world.

Larabee knelt next to the dark haired major, watching as Jackson examined him. A primal roar drew his attention away from Sheppard and he looked around just in time to throw his arms up in defense as his communications expert plowed into him, sending them both crashing over, past Nathan. The ferocity of Dunne's attack was staggering. Chris had never feared the slight youth, but he now felt fear just as he felt the boy's teeth sink into his shoulder. It dawned on Chris that he was in a fight for his life and he realized that hurting JD was the only way he would survive. The blond grabbed the blood-stiffened hair and pulled the young man's head back far enough to slam his head against the exposed nose, drawing a howl of pain from the youth.

The pain distracted the boy long enough for Chris to push him away. Before JD recovered, Josiah came up behind him and wrapped his arms around the slight form, lifting him up and away from Larabee. Immediately, JD began to scream and kick, clawing at the encircling arms. Sanchez staggered back where the other three men joined him.

Chris spared a moment to watch, but quickly turned his attention back to Sheppard as Jackson ministered to him. Feeling a strange kinship to the battered body before him, the blond reached out a hand to touch the bloody cheek, vaguely aware of the struggling across the room. He stared at the quivering hand, amazed at the emotion he felt, a protectiveness that he had not felt in a very long time. He tore his gaze away from the unconscious man to watch the drama playing out in front of him.

Josiah stumbled as JD continued to struggle in his grasp. The marine was surprised at the strength displayed by the youth. He knew he was stronger than the boy, but he could not hold the writhing form and felt the body slipping away. Sanchez stepped back, tripping and crashing to the ground, JD on top of him. He was relieved to see Ezra and Vin each fall across the youth in an attempt to pin him down.

Feeling the weight on his legs and hips now, as well as the steel band around his chest only served to incite Dunne to fight more ferociously. He screamed obscenities at the forms that prevented him from protecting his friend.

Buck dropped to his knees and grabbed JD's face in his hands. He had stood there, shocked by the reaction of his young friend. JD fought like a wild man, obviously not recognizing his friends. The foul language spewing from the normally respectful and mild tempered youth, spurred the man into action.

"JD! JD!" Buck clasped the thrashing skull and forced the boy to look at him. "JD, it's okay. You're okay. John's okay. Calm down and look at me."

But JD continued to struggle and buck against the men confining him. His voice was raspy as he screamed in anger, but his frenzied motions seemed to strengthen rather than weaken.

"Lord, when did the boy get so strong? You would think he'd be weak and tire quickly," Sanchez wheezed.

Vin made grunting noises as he bounced around, hanging onto the thrashing legs while Ezra attempted to hold JD's hips immobile. "I fear we are doing our young friend more harm than good."

Chris had been watching the battle and knew that someone was going to get hurt if something wasn't done soon. Looking up, he nodded at Jackson, who turned his attention to the struggle.

"I know you don't want to, Nathan, but he can't go on like that."

The medic nodded. With a sigh, he removed a syringe with his pack and stood. Moving to the pile of struggling bodies, he grabbed a flaying arm and jabbed the needle into the exposed skin. Stepping back, his eyes met Wilmington's worried gaze. With a pat on the mustached man's shoulder, Jackson moved back to his other patient.

Buck turned his attention back to JD and was relieved to see that the boy's struggles were weakening. He tried once again to connect with the friend inside the battered body.

"JD, can you hear me, son? It's Buck. You're safe now." His words were gently spoken, his eyes never breaking contact with the boy's. "It's okay, now. We're here now."

Dunne stopped struggling and lay across Josiah's chest, drained of strength. His eyes blinked owlishly as he fought the drugs in his system, but they stared into the deep blue eyes of Wilmington.

Vin and Ezra cautiously removed their weight from the youth and waited, watching as Josiah relaxed his grip also.

"B..buck?" JD whispered. His eyes seemed to clear and recognition registered on his face.

"Hey, kid. There ya go. Yeah, it's me. You're okay, now," he cooed. One hand moved from JD's face to his chest and he could feel the tiny tremors beneath his palm. Even as they registered in his mind, the tremors increased.

Tears welled in the hazel eyes looking up at him. "Help…" JD implored. "Please help him. I can't…no more…can't…" And JD's eyes rolled back and the lids slid closed as his body went limp beneath Wilmington's hand.

"NATHAN!"

SGAM7

Buck Wilmington sat in the medical heart of Atlantis, his eyes scanning the area every few minutes before coming back to rest on his young friend. Beckett had settled the two injured men in the back of the room, away from the other injured Marines, giving in to Larabee's demands for privacy. After finding the two kidnap victims in the lower portions of the city, the rest of the team had followed the medical team up to the infirmary. Seeing the curious looks of others, the blond angrily insisted that the men be put somewhere out of public view.

That had been several hours ago. Beckett and his team had examined the two men and after cleaning and binding their wounds, Sheppard and Dunne had been settled in the back of the room with Wilmington and Larabee in constant attendance. Valeria had arrived soon after and had taken up residence beside John's bed, doing what, Buck had no idea. She had informed Larabee and Wilmington of the successful removal of the Goa'uld from Mary Travis and predicted the woman's quick recovery.

Buck remembered the relieved expression on Chris' face at the news that the female pilot was going to be okay, though he was disturbed to learn that she was still under guard in another area. After receiving word that the two younger men were critical but should recover given time, the SOP leader had stalked off. Buck turned his attention back to his charge.

'His charge'? Where the hell did that thought come from he wondered. He looked at the young man and remembered the first time he had seen him, remembered the feeling that ran through him at the time, a feeling of…rightness. Larabee had been looking for a tech guy and, even though Dunne was younger than Chris wanted, Buck knew that the young man was the one for the team.

Being a naturally outgoing and gregarious person, Wilmington felt a closeness to each man on the team, more than any team he ever been a part of, but, whether it was JD's youth, his enthusiasm, or something else, the man felt most protective of Dunne. That feeling had intensified since his kidnapping. Several times during the past three days, he had felt as if he was about to crawl out of his skin and he could feel that Chris felt the same way. Buck had seen it in his old friend's eyes. He had thought the feeling was for Dunne, much as his own feelings, but seeing how the man had stood over Sheppard, Wilmington understood that Chris was drawn to the pilot. The mustached man didn't understand what was happening between them and the two younger men, but he found that it didn't disturb him as much as he thought it might.

Movement drew the Lt. Commander from his musings and his eyes locked on the bed and its occupant. After a few moments, he noticed the shallow rise and fall of the young man's chest and realized that JD was awake and aware, but now lay unmoving. Wilmington assumed the younger man was attempting to assess his surroundings. This assumption prompted the older man to lean forward and speak.

"Hey, JD, it's alright, son. You're safe now." He saw the young man tense, but still failed to respond. Taking a chance, Buck laid a hand on the exposed arm with a feather touch. Even so, he felt the young man's muscles tighten more. Nodding in understanding, Wilmington slowly ran his hand along the slender limb as he softly reassured the youth. "I swear JD, it's gonna be okay. I promise. The team's here now and we're going to take care of ya…both of ya."

He waited patiently and after a few moments, was rewarded as JD's eyes opened slowly. His gaze darted around the infirmary, taking in everything before finally settling on Buck.

"Hey, kid." His grin was shallow and shadowed with worry, but deepened as the younger man sighed and smiled back.

"Buck" he whispered.

"That's right, kid. Ya made it. Ya did good." The man frowned as JD turned away from him. "Hey, it's okay."

The dark-haired youth slowly shook his head. "Jo..n?" he mumbled.

"Sheppard?" Wilmington questioned. "He's fine. He's right over there." Buck gently turned JD's head so that he faced the second bed in the isolated end of the infirmary.

JD blinked slowly as his eyes adjusted. Frowning, he rolled away from Buck and toward the edge of the bed. The older man leaned over, lightly restraining Dunne as he mumbled something.

Turning JD back to face him, Buck asked, "What?"

A hand came up hesitantly, pointing at the other bed. "Wh...who?" His eyes moved back to the other bed and its unconscious occupant, but it was the unknown woman that sat next to Sheppard that drew Dunne's attention.

Buck sighed. How was he going to explain that the woman…a woman that looked the same age as the pilot…was actually John Sheppard's mother and that she and him were both Atlantians? There was no way JD would be able to absorb the information in his present condition, so Buck decided that it would wait until the youth was stronger, more aware, before revealing that the woman was not only John's mother, but JD's aunt as well. He kept the information simple.

"She's a friend. She helped us get here."

JD nodded as he continued to study the woman. As he watched, she slipped off the bed, one hand to her chest while the other clutched the end of the bed. After a moment, she straightened and unsteadily left the area. He wondered if she was ill, but didn't have time to ask Wilmington as motion drew his attention to the foot of his own bed. As his gaze moved in that direction, his eyes widened and he felt his heart pounding in his chest. Panicked, he tried to push himself up toward the head of the bed, away from the duo that approached, as he chanted, "No. No…no".

Buck rose to his feet as JD reacted to the two people headed in their direction. "It's okay, JD. Travis is…" Buck searched for the appropriate word. Finding none, he continued with, "…She's not snaked anymore, son. Valeria got the snake out. This is just Mary…no evil creature…just Mary Travis."

The Lt Commander glanced at the pilot and team leader as they paused, a couple of steps from the bed. Mary had gone pale at JD's reaction and her eyes dropped in humiliation. Larabee stood quietly, but the tense set of his mouth spoke volumes to his old friend. Buck turned back to the terrified Dunne. He tired again.

"JD? It's just Mary. It wasn't her. She couldn't control what happened. You know that. You and Daniel Jackson talked about the Goa'uld and how they control their hosts. But the Goa'uld is gone; this is only Mary. You always liked her. Remember?" Seeing the fear was unabated, he changed tactics. "You know I would never let her near you if I thought she would hurt you again. You know that, right?"

JD had managed to huddle himself at the head of the bed, his breath coming in short gasps. His hands were clenched around his bedding, his IV ripped loose and dripping on the floor. Finally, one hand released the blanket and waveringly rose to point at the pale blonde woman.

"She…she… made me….John…I…hurt…John….she…" His breath came in ragged gulps and he began to gasp harder for each breath, but his eyes never wavered from the woman. The fear would not allow him to glance away, to calm himself. All four of the people stood frozen as he fought to control his panic. "Make her go…go away." Then to the woman, he demanded, "Go away. Get away from us. Go away." His voice rose with each word.

The stand off was suddenly broken as Carson Beckett charged through the curtain that separated this area from the rest of the infirmary.

"What the bloody hell is going on in here? My patient's vitals just shot through the roof." Seeing where JD was looking and knowing a little of what had transpired before the expedition's arrival on Atlantis, he frowned at Larabee, saying, "Get 'er out of here. The lad isn't ready for this." Turning back, he started toward the bed to attend his patient.

His strides quickly brought him to JD's bedside, but seeing the dark haired youth shrink away, he drew up short and took a deep, calming breath. The last thing he wanted to do was panic the youth even more. "JD? My name is Carson Beckett. Da ya remember me? We met briefly on earth. Elizabeth Weir introduced us. I'm the chief of medicine." He waited as the young man turned his focus from the woman to him.

Smiling gently, Carson took a step toward the wary youth, his hands open and away from his body. "Let's have 'a look at ya. You seem a mite upset."

JD's eyes watched the man closely as he moved closer, but then his eyes shot back to the woman as she also took a step closer. With a whimpering sound, JD moved away from them both and closer to the edge of the bed where Buck stood. The tall man instinctively placed himself in front of the cowering youth, his hands coming up to block the woman's advance.

"I only wanted…" she began. Seeing JD cringe, she lowered her head and whispered, "I only wanted to apologize."

Mary's voice had the undesirable effect of causing Dunne to breathe more rapidly. Blood drained from his face even as he averted his gaze to stare at the back of his protector, one hand reaching out to grasp Buck's shirt.

Beckett turned to face the woman and the man that stood just behind her. "I'll not ask ya again. Take the woman out."

Chris Larabee glared at the man and responded with a terse statement. "This isn't Mary's fault. She is as much a victim as JD and John."

Beckett's features softened slightly as he looked at the woman. "Aye, I know that. But the experience is too fresh for the lad to be able to separate the woman from the tormentor. The lads will need time to adjust their heads to what their hearts know."

Larabee stood silently for a moment and then turned and stepped in front of Mary Travis. Placing a hand on each of her arms, he gently turned her away. "He has a point, Mary. JD knows in his heart that you aren't responsible, but his mind needs time to realize that also."

Travis brought her hand up to cover her mouth and suppress the sob that threatened to escape, but she nodded. In her mind, she knew that the physical wounds would heal a lot faster than the wounds to the soul that the snake had inflicted on all three of them. She turned away, praying that the two men would be able to forgive her. She knew that until they did, she could never forgive herself.

Buck turned back to JD as Chris escorted Mary away. The young man seemed to collapse into a heap as the two moved away, his eyes shuttered in relief. The mustached man nodded as Carson told him that he would be right back. He needed to get the necessary items to clean JD's arm and reinsert the IV. As Beckett disappeared behind the curtain, Wilmington placed a hip on the bed and a hand on the trembling shoulder of his young friend.

"I'm sorry, JD. I should have known you weren't up to that confrontation yet." He paused, wanting to convey his feelings to his young roommate, but knowing anything he said would only be trite and of no aid in helping JD to overcome his terror. He was relieved to see…or feel that is…the quivering muscles under his hand begin to relax. A smile pulled at his lips as hazel eyes silted open to look at him. Even more encouraging, was seeing the young man slowly sit up and glance around the room. Unfortunately, he was totally unprepared for the response that gaze produced. Before Buck even realized the boy was moving, JD had shot off the bed and ran across the short expanse of the infirmary floor to slam into the blonde woman and her escort. The big man jumped up and ran around to bed as the trio crashed to the floor.

JD regained his feet first and now stood, swaying, between Chris and Mary and the bed where John Sheppard lay. His voice was raspy as he gritted out a demand that the woman back off.

Chris helped the stunned pilot to her feet and turned on the younger man. "Dammit, JD. She's not the enemy here."

"Get away from him," JD commanded from his hunched over position near the bed.

"I just wanted to see…"

"See what? What you did to him? What I did?"

"JD, I'm so sorry…"

"Stay away from him." JD's hand came up to point an accusing finger at the woman. "I won't let you hurt him anymore. You stay away from him, or I'll kill you…you, Bitch."

"JD!" Chris' voice was sharp and reprimanded in tone, but Dunne ignored the team leader, his attention solely on the woman.

Mary's mouth opened as her hands came up in a repentant gesture. The motion elicited a deep throated growl from the youth and he lunged forward. Chris stepped between the two even as Buck came around and grabbed the lunging body. He spun JD around to face away from the shocked Mary.

"Get her out of here, Chris," he gasped as he fought to maintain his hold on the slighter JD. Much as when they had found Dunne and Sheppard earlier, deep within the bowels of the city, Wilmington now found his arms full of a biting, kicking, screaming JD Dunne. He struggled to hold on even as they fell to the floor. Glancing back, he saw Chris pushing Mary toward the curtain.

Suddenly the curtain parted and Valeria charged in. With a quick glance to assess the area, she tossed a glare in Mary's direction before heading to where Buck wrestled with the younger Dunne. She dropped to her knees and placed her hands on either side of JD's face. Her eyes closed and her head dropped. Within moments, JD went still in Buck's grasp. He stared at the woman and her head rose to meet his gaze. A sad smile graced her lips as JD relaxed even more, slumping against Wilmington's chest. Buck watched as JD's eyelids dropped and fluttered.

As the youth succumbed to his fatigue and injuries, the woman leaned down and whispered into his ear. "Thank you. Thank you for taking care of my son."

Buck gathered the lax body closer as he looked into the green eyes of the warrior. Not trusting his voice, he nodded his thanks. Chris appeared to stand next to the woman and he extended a hand to assist her from the floor. As she slowly stood, Buck noticed for the first time the weariness that clung to the lithe form. Larabee wrapped an arm around Valeria's waist and helped her back to Sheppard's bedside. She inclined her head in thanks and then took up a position next to her son once again, all her concentration on him once more.

Chris watched the mother attending the son momentarily and then retreated to allow her privacy. He squatted down next to Buck and JD, his face composed and unreadable.

"Let me help you with him." It was more a question than a statement, Larabee's way of saying he had made a mistake in bringing the woman in so soon and asking forgiveness for that error.

" 'preciate, pard." Apology accepted.

They picked JD up and carried him back to the bed where Beckett stood ready to administer to his patient. While Carson worked on JD, Buck once again took up his guardian position. Chris moved back across to the other bed, standing a discreet distance away, but still within reaching distance should the woman or man need him in his own guardian role.

SGAM7

Elizabeth Weir looked around the table at the people gathered there. In order, starting on her left, was Rodney McKay, her chief scientist. Next to him sat Dr. Carson Beckett, chief medical officer. Beside him was Colonel Sumner, assigned as security chief. Lt. Aiden Ford sat beside the colonel; the soldier was young and eager to see what this new planet had to show him. Flanking the young soldier were three technicians, each one in charge of various areas and under her direct command. Commander Chris Larabee sat to her right, his face unreadable as he studied the people around the table. She had the best personnel available and she knew it. All she had to do was trust in their collective judgment and things would work out. Hopefully.

Of all the people that sat at the table, the only one she was not familiar with was Larabee. Each of the others, she had met on Earth while arrangements and final meetings were held for the command personnel of the Atlantis exploration team. The Special Ops team that Larabee headed was not intended to accompany her and her staff to Atlantis. The presence of Colonel Sumner and his marines was a necessary precaution and she understood that…accepted that…since no one knew what they would find in this new star system so far from earth. No one knew what dangers awaited them at Atlantis. But Larabee and his team were unexpected. And the presence of two military leaders, two strong-willed men, used to giving orders, was a bit unnerving to the diplomat in her.

Taking a deep breath, the woman clasped her hands together on the table and began.

"I want to thank all of you for coming. I know that everyone is busy in your respective areas so I'll try to keep this short."

"Elizabeth," McKay began, "I really don't see the need…"

"Rodney, if you'll allow me a few minutes to explain, I believe the necessity of this meeting will become apparent."

The man rolled his eyes and tossed his hands up in resignation before slouching back in his chair, his fingers entwined across his stomach.

Taking that as an acceptance, the woman continued.

"As you know, Commander Larabee and his team, along with Colonel Sumner and his men, led the expedition through the StarGate. A woman accompanied them. Rumors always seem to circulate and grow, especially in a closed environment such a military base so I thought it important that you all understand the change in plans. Among other things, I wanted to make clear exactly who this woman is and why she is here. Commander Larabee…"

She glanced over and cocked an eyebrow, tossing the proverbial 'ball' into the SOP leader's court. Her head dropped to conceal her amusement at the man's expression. This was not a man used to making speeches and his discomfort was evident in the straight line of his back.

Larabee took a moment to compose himself and make a mental note to talk to the woman about extending the courtesy of telling him beforehand when she expected him to make a speech. But she was correct. It was important that everyone understood the importance of Valeria in the scheme of things.

"Let me start by introducing myself. My name is Chris Larabee. I command a Special Operations team that was assigned to General O'Neill as his personal guard."

McKay leaned forward, a sneer on his face. "And exactly how do you plan to protect the man while in another solar system?"

As badly as the SOP leader would have liked to punch the smug look off the man's face, he elected to smile benignly instead. The effect was more intimidating than a glare, causing the scientist to look away.

Satisfied with the effects his expression garnered, the blond continued, "Uncontrollable circumstances made it necessary for my team to join the Atlantis expedition. Almost four days ago, a Goa'uld kidnapped two of my team and took them through the StarGate to Atlantis, depleting the ZPM and forcing us to acquire another power source. We accomplished that with the assistance of the woman that accompanied us here. Her name is Valeria and she was the last leader of Atlantis."

Several murmured comments were heard around the table as people looked from one to the other in astonishment.

Sumner leaned forward, slapping one hand on the table. "Commander, are you telling me that that woman is from Atlantis? How the hell did she get to Earth? And why did she leave only to turn around and come back?"

"Firstly, Colonel, she came to Earth many years ago but she was injured in the final battle to try and save Atlantis. When she arrived through the Stargate, the Asgard interceded, removing her from Earth and maintaining and working to heal her injuries. Apparently the damage she sustained was massive and she was only recently able to return to search for her son-a child that was left behind. She agreed to assist us in return for help."

"Aye, so the rumor is true. One of the lads in the infirmary is indeed her child," Beckett said. "The lass has been hanging on him since ya brought him and the other lad in."

"How are the two men, Carson?" This from Elizabeth.

"Well… they're in pretty bad shape, but nothing that a bit of time and good care won't cure."

"Good," was her only comment before turning back to Chris. "Commander, do you think that Valeria will assist us with bringing Atlantis back on line?"

"You'd have to ask her, ma'am. She's pretty focused on getting her son well right now."

"Ah, I see. Perhaps after he is recovered enough."

Chris nodded, his mouth opening to continue when the door to the conference was pushed open and Valeria entered confidently into the room.

The men rose from their chairs, waiting as she crossed the room to stand in the middle of the semicircular table.

"I am Valeria of Atlantis." She spoke directly to Elizabeth Weir, bowing slightly to the woman.

Elizabeth stood and returned the bow. "Elizabeth Weir. We are honored. I hope your son is improved," she stated, to which the woman nodded slightly.

The two women studied each other for several moments, seemingly sizing each other up. Finally, they both inclined their heads in respect.

Dr. Weir returned to her seat, saying, "Your city is beautiful. Besides the advanced technology that your people developed, the artistry, even the construction of the city, itself, is breathtaking."

"Thank you, Elizabeth. My people have always taken great pride in their city."

The warrior turned to observe each of the others around the table, her gaze slow and apprising and stopped on Chris Larabee. A wistful expression came across her face before she looked away and addressed the expedition commander.

"The city was my home…my charge…for many years. The Wraith were our biggest threat in this system. We fought long, at the cost of many lives, to defeat this evil, but their numbers were too great, their strength too strong. In the end, we had to abandon our home and venture far to escape the danger they presented."

Valeria stopped and closed her eyes, her body losing some of its steel. It was only a moment's weakness but when she opened her eyes, her gaze locked with Chris' and she saw the concern in their green depths. With a shake of her head, she continued her tale.

"It was through our own arrogance, our certainty of our superiority, that we allowed ourselves to be blinded to the danger until it was too late. These predators will still be here and, once they learn that Atlantis once again lives, they shall return."

Looking around the room, she focused her attention on Colonel Sumner and Rodney McKay. "There are many enemies to confront, much knowledge to be ascertained, but, in terms of the Atlantians, you are children, with the poor impulse control that children exhibit."

Seeing the indignation on some faces, she continued, her voice steely, "This is not an insult to your race, only the reality of the situation. There are things in this city that will entice you. I ask that you approach the unknown with extreme caution."

This was spoken directly to McKay and caused the sometimes arrogant man to flush and look away. The woman turned toward the colonel then.

"There are many adversaries…many opportunistic groups…people that will profess to being friend but they are not. They will want supplies, technology, protection. Until you have time to learn the difference, exercise caution."

Larabee had been watching closely as the woman spoke and now he stood and started around the table.

"I will assist your endeavor as much as possible with information about Atlantis, about the Pegasus system, but my time as ruler has passed, this city is no longer my charge."

Chris had just reached the warrior as she finished speaking. She turned slowly and smiled at the son of her offspring. Her hand came up to brush lightly down his cheek as she whispered, "I place into your hands the care of my son, the heir to the realm of Atlantis. Protect him. He is the key to the heart of Atlantis."

Much like a puppet with its strings severed, the warrior crumpled without warning. Larabee leapt forward to catch the woman before she hit the ground. As he settled her in his arms, Carson Beckett dropped to his knees in front of them.

After a quick check, sad eyes looked up to meet Chris' questioning gaze.

"I'll have to examine her, but her heart rate is too fast and very erratic."

Chris stood, the slender form cradled in his arms. With Carson leading the way, he headed to the infirmary as Weir called to the doctor to keep her informed of the woman's condition. Holding the slight weight close, Larabee glanced down and whispered,

"Fear not, Mother. I accept the charge of protecting my brother."


End file.
